


Texted Consent

by conchepcion



Series: Texts and lies [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Romance, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conchepcion/pseuds/conchepcion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has gotten out of a relationship and becomes rather unhelpful. Sherlock decides to cheer her up by creating "Ben" - the perfect man to raise her confidence up via text. Little does Sherlock know the consequences of creating the perfect man and how Molly really is outside Bart's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Silly is the word, very silly, probably very crack, and just for laughs on my part. Well, I never really do anything else. I thought I wouldn't post it, but I did. This won't be a long epic saga (thank god). Review if you like that's always encouraging.

The coffee had never been good, he admitted as much, but he drank it. He would drink the dredged porridge of a cup with a pleasant curve of the lip, until her bright brown eyes were directed into a different direction, and he could put the cup aside to be  _forgotten_. He was used to her vigorous attempts, from stuttering suggestive statements about them involving themselves to having a cup of coffee, at which he hoped it would be brewed of someone more sufficient in the profession, but he brushed each attack off.

Each attempt was as dull as the rest, predictable to the core, and the very essence of answering any of her attempts with "yes" would ruin their already established relationship. He did not blink an eye when she got herself a beau, a proper one apparently from the looks of it, her cheeks would be aflame, eyes brighter, gait confident, and their working-relationship ran smoother than usual until the relationship took an end to. It was then she showed up, barely washed, barely human, and he more or less exclaimed, "You rather resemble Mrs Laraby - Molly, I suggest a good quick scrub, or else the corpse will be in a fitter state than you."

It was not received well, John looked positively livid, as Molly slowly opened her mouth wide for a moment, before rather quietly in the most venomous of sweetened voices said, "Get out."

He looked at her astonished, surprised at her conduct and her statement, which was a proper furious one at that, "I am sorry," he said hurriedly, hoping to bury it underground, like the rest of it, except she just pursed her lips at him "Get out, or I will call security."

He looks at her bemused, as John jerks his head to the exit hurriedly eyeing Sherlock, "We have a case," Sherlock said drily, looking at her curiously now.

"You can ask Lestrade for the paper-work, I'm not having you here anymore," she snapped, not looking up, covering up the body hurriedly, before holding the door open to the morgue, "Please leave, or I will force you out."

"We better-," started John shifting awkwardly, coughing soundly, before walking ahead of Sherlock who unwillingly followed him out of the morgue.

* * *

"She's heartbroken Sherlock. It'll be all right. Just give her time, you know," said John eyeing him from behind the paper uneasily in 221b Baker Street. "It's not easy, you know yourself." Sherlock scoffed offended.

"I have been entirely civilised," he said haughtily with his chin out, before taking a sip of his tea.

"Sherlock you said she resembled the corpse; a corpse with a missing head. That's not particularly helpful, is it?" said John folding the paper with a disgruntled expression.

Sherlock smiled, "I was just observing. She doesn't comb her hair, no attempt on keeping up appearances either, even if her choice of attire wasn't much to speak of. She barely sleeps, dark circles under her eyes, and her handwriting is too hard to decipher in the paper-work - before it was well-kept, even with small hearts and what-not," he said heatedly slamming his cup of tea on the table, "I cannot conduct my experiments when she's like this."

"Sherlock, give it a week or two, and she'll probably be fine. This is normal behaviour, even if you cannot grasp that idea - you could just do all of your work here," said John lazily, taking a swig of his tea.

Sherlock grimaced, standing up hurriedly picking up his violin, before dropping it to his side, "What are the chances of them getting back together?"

"Slim," said John not looking up from his tea. "Mary said he was a right git."

Sherlock frowned, "She should have let me meet him."

"I don't think you meeting him would have helped really," said John snorting.

"I could have deduced what kind of man he was. She has never been good at choosing men. One of them tries to blow us up, then tries to force me to take my life."

"Well, she can only get better from Moriarty," said John with a sigh, keeping on reading his paper, trying to ignore the voice behind him being Sherlock.

"Yes, yet she chooses a man who ends up casting her aside. She seems pretty enough, if she doesn't secure a man soon she will be alone," snarled Sherlock hands on his hips, as he'd given up the violin as a bad job.

John stared open mouthed at Sherlock in surprise, "I'm sorry, have you been watching too much telly, then? Is that it? She's 34 years old Sherlock - it's a far step from being a  _spinster,_  and she just broke up with her boyfriend. Let her be single, I'm sure she'll find someone."

"Yes, another idiotic attempt that'll make her unhappy. Resulting me into being banished away from my studies, and now there was even a case. The case could have been hurriedly solved, had she not been so entirely unhelpful," he said scathingly.

"This isn't about you - we can't all work our schedules around you - even if - never mind. People like being in relationships - Sherlock. They like being with people - unlike some - it just takes time. She'll probably go online, or chat or text, I don't know - flirting helps, you know," said John exasperated.

Sherlock looked displeased at this, before a manic grin spread across his features, "Oh. Oh, that is brilliant," he said clapping his hands together. "To elate her spirits - you are excellent John - of course."

"What did I say then?" asked John with worried furrowed brows.

Sherlock picked up his nearby laptop hurriedly typing looking smug, at which John looked at him sheepishly, "What are you doing then?" Sherlock ignores him.

"I want to know what I've gotten you to do, so I can deny all blame when it comes up," said John with crossed arms.

Sherlock looks up at him, "What she needs is a recovery - I am going to be that recovery."

"You're going to flirt with Molly Hooper?" asked John confused, though a big grin showed up on his face nonetheless.

"No, not me -  _him_ ," said Sherlock wheeling around the computer showing a photo of a handsome dark haired man with blue eyes. "I calculate that this is the sort of man she finds attractive."

John gave a cough at this, hiding the laughter that threatened to come, when Sherlock gave him a look. He put on a serious face, "Who is it then?"

"This is a image that cropped up," said Sherlock with a quick smile.

"You've just googled her a man, then? Right - wait - not getting it."

"I am going to create a false man, boost her self-esteem, that sort of thing one sees in those rubbish movies. She'll feel better, and I can get to do my work in silence," he said smugly.

"No – no - that's a stupid idea Sherlock," said John shaking his head.

"What?" said Sherlock aghast; "It's a magnificent idea for the both of us."

"How on earth are you going to contact her, then?"

"Via that blog of hers."

"The same way Moriarty contacted her? I think she's a bit vary of emails or what-not at the moment," said John with a frown, shaking his head, "I still don't think it's a good idea."

"I'll text her," said Sherlock.

"You'll text her?" said John startled.

"Yes," said Sherlock sounding bored.

"How on earth are you going to do that? If you text her she's going to think you're a pervert."

"I am not unfamiliar with the process of thinking in communication, especially through the means of technology John. I know my texting," Sherlock said with a pleased smirk.

"You know how to do this - well, I hope you're not going to use your phone then."

"Of course not, I'm using yours," said Sherlock with disbelief with his hands somehow on John's mobile phone.

"No, you're not - get your own bloody phone - anyway she could look that up, you've got to consider that," snapped John pulling his phone away from the man.

"Already have - getting an extra mobile phone of course."

"Why not just give her time-," moaned John exasperated.

"I'll text an appropriate text-," said Sherlock ignoring him.

"Sherlock, do you even know how to flirt?" said John who knew now that he could not convince his friend of doing anything differently.

"John, I have had my share of faked relationships. I am quite familiar with the term."

"The term - the term - right, right carry on then. I just hope you know what you're doing. If she finds out she will kill you."

"I doubt it, I'll go on a long escalated rant about how I wanted to make her feel better, and she'll start making me cups of coffee wondering if I myself sent her those texts with heartfelt intentions," said Sherlock in a sing-song voice, clearly pleased with his plan, and his back-up plan.

"That's quite a tactic, you know," said John with slight admiration.

"What?" said Sherlock typing furiously on the keyboard of the laptop.

"Sending her fake texts, just to make her feel better. You could just try to send her some texts from yourself though."

"Why would that help?" said Sherlock in surprise.

"Oh, never mind," said John settling down into the sofa discontented.

* * *

John had quite forgotten the entire idea, brushing it off as a ruse out of boredom for Sherlock who had been lacking of cases for the last week or two. Boredom was something he disliked heavily; John himself disliked Sherlock being bored. So, it was to his surprise when John found Sherlock bringing home a new phone. "That's not," he said aghast, peering at the mobile box.

"It is rather low-tech is it not? I didn't feel that Jeremy needed anything better, really. He doesn't strike me as that sort of man," said Sherlock putting a simcard into the phone.

"Jeremy?" said John perplexed.

"That's his name," quipped Sherlock.

"You've got to be kidding," said John hand rubbing his temples.

"Isn't it a good name?" asked Sherlock looking at John curiously.

"No, Sherlock - I'm saying you've got to be kidding, because I thought you'd given this entire thing up!"

"I never said I had given it up. So Jeremy is bad choice, then? You're probably right; one doesn't trust Jeremy's. Men beginning on the letter J do have a tendency to be friends or bastards."

"What?"

"Maybe, it should be something classic, more elegant. Beginning the name on A - would be too obvious - maybe B, do you know if she fancies a possible actor of some kind?"

John furrowed his brows.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Sherlock just stared in return.

John glared in turn, gave a sigh, before saying sheepishly -

"There's this actor with a funny sort of name. Mary mentioned that Molly thought him handsome at least, if that helps - funny last name, didn't quite catch it, but the first was Benedict."

"Benedict," said Sherlock with a disgruntled expression of distaste.

"Or you could just give it up entirely, you know. You're not actually going to use that photo of that bloke, then."

"No, I found a similar man, except I made certain he was dead. I don't want her to accidentally meet her long-distance infatuation. He's also long-gone so no accidental meet-ups in the morgue either. That would be fairly unpleasant I suppose - a surprise to find ones suitor in a body-bag."

"Long distance?"

"Yes, I thought he could live outside London. Makes it a bit more believable."

"Believable? Sherlock, you shouldn't be doing this. There will be consequences."

"Only if she finds out, there's no harm in trying to cheer her up."

"Yes, if this was entirely about her, yes, then of course smashing idea. Let's cheer up Molly - you go talk to her, have a chat, give her a cup of tea, possibly a shoulder to cry on-," said John almost pleadingly now, trying to dissuade him from the ridiculous idea.

"You could be that shoulder, John," said Sherlock with a wide grin.

John looked at him baffled, mouth clenched, before saying rather sternly, "My shoulder is confiscated at the moment."

"Yes,  _Mary_ ," said Sherlock with distaste. "You are not making this any easier - really John. You could stand to be a bachelor a bit longer, couldn't you? You've had a string of them. Now you just had to be settled down, more or less with-,"

"Yes, Mary my girlfriend -  _Mary_. At least you remember her name," interrupted John disgruntled, before Sherlock said something that John would regret.

"Well, she did give me a delicious case, did she not? Certainly picks up the interest level of knowing names. Her job isn't all too boring, either, same field as Molly - has she tried solving her problem? They are friends, are they not?"

"Sherlock, you've got to give her time," moaned John.

"Yes - too late," said Sherlock and without further ado he fumbled with the buttons of the new phone, before smugly sending off what he assumed was a fairly good tactic in securing the attention of any female.

John looked at him in disbelief, as he threw him the phone, "I'm allowed to look then?"

Sherlock just raised a brow, as John read on –

_Are you OK? I know it's late, but I want to talk._

John looked at him in confusion, "Sorry what?"

"This is from - I haven't entirely decided on his name yet - our mystery charmer - he is a man who's recently gotten out of a relationship. This is his text - which should go to an ex, but unfortunately the ex gave him the wrong number," said Sherlock with a pleased smile pointing to the phone in John's hands.

John pursed his lips, blinking stupidly at Sherlock for a few seconds, before saying rather annoyed, "That might actually work."

"Yes, two broken hearted people meet via text. Molly gets a confidence boost, and I get my cup of coffee," said Sherlock holding out his palm for the mobile phone.

"You don't even like the cuppa. You're always complaining that she can't brew for her life," said John vexed returning the phone to him.

"There's a status quo that needs to be upheld John. I don't want St Bart's to be in tarnish because of a whimsical pathologist," said Sherlock closing his hands around the mobile phone.

"I really do wish this was for Molly's happiness, but you being the git you are – Jesus - Sherlock if this bites you in the arse - I am not helping you," said John raising his hands.

"John, believe me - only good will come out of this," said Sherlock reassuringly.

"Right," said John shaking his head.

* * *

Molly Hooper stared in surprise at her phone - an unknown number had texted her. She usually never answered that sort of thing, but it didn't say who the owner was. With furrowed brows she decided to reply, just to divert the texting, if it were to continue, giving her the tiniest feeling of excitement, though she hardly wanted to admit that.

I'm sorry. I think you've gotten the wrong number. Who's this? - M

_Oh gosh, I am so sorry. The name is Ben you don't by any chance know an Emily do you? - B_

Only a Molly to be found here really… - M

_Sorry to bother you. Thank you for answering. I'd probably have sent a thousand texts there - B_

Oh no problem, I hope you get hold of her - M

* * *

"Oh, there, see she's not going to text anymore. You can't answer that," said John with a curt nod and a brief smile standing up properly, from having bent down nose forward hovering over Sherlock.

"I'm not going to need to," said Sherlock briefly mobile phone laying flat in his palm.

"You're not going-," started John right at the exact moment the phone went buzzing off again. "That's her? You've got to be kidding me."

"Women always reply to that sort of thing," said Sherlock waving his hand carelessly, as he picked up the phone with ease.

"They always Sherlock, they almost never do," said John irritated by his friend who conveyed none of this knowledge previously.

"Yes, if they know the man. I am a perfect stranger. A stranger she doesn't know the face to, except that I'm modest. Modest strangers are particular favourites of all lonely women John - what has literature told us," Sherlock reeled off self-righteously.

"You mean –  _Ben_  is - you're the least modest person I know of," said John with a grimace, before mumbling, "What does it say then?"

"I thought you didn't want to be involved," said Sherlock with a grin at his friend holding the mobile phone up rather teasingly.

"I'm not - just show me the bloody text - will you?" snapped John, as Sherlock let him hold the phone.

Not to pry or anything, but why do you need to get hold of her? - M

_Emily is my ex-girlfriend actually - B_

Oh, I'm so sorry. I've just been through a breakup myself - M

"She's not, you know," said Sherlock confidentially.

"The fact that you're a-," John stopped up abruptly, gave an awkward smile, before drinking of his coffee quietly.

"Yes, John - do tell," snapped Sherlock with furrows in his brows, while texting rapidly.

_You don't need to apologize you didn't make her cheat - B_

"You're really going to play off this aren't you?" said John peering over his shoulder looking thoughtfully at the screen.

"Are you going to comment everything I write? Since this will be more than one text," said Sherlock getting aggravated by the non-stop questions.

John snorted.

I'm so sorry. My ex did the same thing actually - M

Sherlock looked startled at John. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew," said John in surprise, "You usually see that sort of thing."

"Well, women tend to be angry when men cheat - not upset. That's quite the different reaction to what I am used to John."

"Do you have an archive in your mind for every reaction then? We're human beings Sherlock - you can't calculate every emotion - you can fake them, but you can't assume you know how people will act. We might surprise you once in a while," said John pointedly.

"No, you're dull. There must be more to it then. Interesting," said Sherlock clapping his hands together, phone set aside.

John shook his head, drank up his cup of coffee, "I'm going to Mary's. Have a - don't - you know what - I'm just going to go."

_Yes, well then you know how it feels. I'm sorry, I won't bother you anymore - B_

You're not bothering me. It's nice to know someone's having a not so good time. Well, I don't mean that I want you to suffer. I just - it's just nice to know - M

Sherlock snorted. Even in text Molly Hooper managed to convey the usual awkward behaviour, though he'd rather have her stare at him, when she thought he didn't see, than have her glare at him. An action he would never have guessed she had it in her in particular either.

_Yeah, though I'd rather neither of us had any problem really. I'd rather go back to the start - B_

Sherlock might have stolen that off a ridiculous song he'd heard on the radio, but he felt properly committed to making it believable. Some pop-cultural references were bound to happen, as he'd found himself constantly watching the television these days. The influences would help him manage to coerce all of the lines he was sure would sway the pathologist into his grazes. By the second another text popped up he knew her interest had peaked.

Maybe some things are just meant to happen - M

"Already quite optimistic about this one, are you? Fascinating," mumbled Sherlock to himself, before answering her.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock first met her, those brown eyes widened at him, and she was half-gaping at the man. Considering the fact that the woman was surrounded by a quite severely injured corpse she seemed to be more shocked to see him stride into her midst than anything.

At first he assumed she was a jittery one, nerves being that she was new, except when he caught her working – he could see her eyes fixed upon the task before her. She would mutter under her breath, talking as if it were to the body before her. He knew very much of her then, from the way she'd use too much sugar in her tea, and had one of the Jane Austen novels as her absolute favourite – dog-eared with a beaten look to it.

Her flat was mapped out in his head, with pink cupboards, and slightly dried out cactus plants occupying the windowsills - a bottle of red wine tucked behind the crackers for the nights she felt daring, but no – he knew her very well. It was blatantly obvious from the ponytail-hair, the sensible shoes, the colourful flowery cardigans and probably white cotton underwear filled in her drawers.

Yet she had astonished him, as being the first female who'd instantly taken to him. His previous experience with the opposite sex had been with coaxing and general broad grins, but with Molly he hadn't needed to do any proper well-thought scheme. Her pupils already dilated the moment she laid eyes on him, her cheeks flushed, and her pulse didn't even need to be attended to.

He knew by throwing a few good remarks here and there that it was an easy task, but then again she had repeatedly amazed him on occasion. One of the few people who'd stood up to him, proceeded to help him in the worst of situations, and then progressed to throwing him out of her morgue. He always knew that their situation might end at some point, for he had on time been harmlessly immature in reacting to the knuckle-headed men she'd  _accidentally_  bring with her, but the last in that succession she'd avoided to mention entirely. Their work had been absolutely fine, with her speaking much more freely, and him not misusing his ability to make her knees go weak.

Creating false profiles all over the Internet had been easy, constructing even a proper background – of course he avoided the picture, as he realised that the man was too handsome. He avoided having photo's everywhere; excepting Facebook there he put up photo of Italy where  _Ben_ had recently holidayed.

However you could be a pervert or a madman. I'd rather not have that happen again. – M

Sherlock chuckled as he laid fully stretched out on the sofa, as Molly despite her optimistic outlook was fully sceptical, which granted was her every right.

_Again? Sorry, do you often meet madmen perverts by the way of accidental texting then? – B_

No, via my blog – M

_What sort of blog is that exactly that allows madmen and perverts then? - B_

Highly personal and none of your business Ben the stranger. - M

_The name is Ben Smith or Benedict Smith, actually - if you feel the want to check my credentials. I think everything should be in order. I'm a banker – B_

A banker? - M

_Yes, I work for the big bad corporate machine. I wear ties everyday and get sufficiently bored cracking numbers and there's very little madman about me at all. How about yourself? - B_

I think it's too early for me to give away my entire life story to the man with a photo of Italy on his profile. That's terribly sketchy in itself - M

_I've just been there! I try to take photos with my Nikon. Not terribly good photos. Emily always hated my photos. - B_

They're not bad. I'm a pathologist by the way – M

_You work with dead people? - B_

Yes, maybe that gives an appropriate explanation to the perverts and madmen. I love my job; I never have patients who talk back at least. They can't indict me for negligence. - M

_You don't seem the type of person who'd neglect your patients whether with a pulse or not - B_

How did you figure that out then? - M

_You haven't suddenly stopped answering my texts, unlike your phone-counter part with an eerily close number – B_

I suggest not phoning her – M

_I won't. I'm just happy if I manage to sleep now. I haven't had a decent night of sleep in a while - B_

Neither have I. I'll keep you company. I'm awfully good company. Where in London do you live? – M

_2 hours and 40 minutes away, in Cardiff actually - B_

Oh, well that's quite a distance for a late night cup of coffee. There must be something wrong with you – Cardiff, really? – M

_Yes, I am a madman. You've got me. – B_

* * *

John found Sherlock asleep on the sofa the very next morning, "Have you been texting all night?" asked John with furrowed brows, as Sherlock was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, stretching himself properly, before groggily seating himself by the table where breakfast was waiting. "You should know when to stop," John remarked in Sherlock's continuing silence by the breakfast table.

The man had just put his two phones on the table, jammed some toast in his mouth, and proceeded to hide behind a newspaper.

John did not let his silence put him off the topic, "What do you actually write to her? Is there lot's of xxx and kisses, then? Loads of smiley's, and what-not?" he asked cheekily, "Yes, Ben I've never met such an insightful stranger via text. Kiss - kiss," he said, at which Sherlock snorted behind his paper.

"Then again – do you even know flirting? I know Irene Adler texted you, but you never really answered her texts at all-," continued John.

"This is what it is all about?" asked Sherlock rather darkly dropping the paper.

"What?" said John raising his brows with a grin.

"It is remarkable how that one lone statement from my brother has marked quite deftly what you assume is my entire knowledge on the field," snapped Sherlock.

John chewed rather slowly at that, taking to wiping his mouth, before saying carefully "There's nothing – you know – err – wrong with not having experienced-," said John rather awkwardly, shifting ineptly in his seat.

"Save the speech John. I know. It's amazing - it's wonderful. I've seen the descriptive texts to Mary-," Sherlock rattled off shielded by his paper, before he picked up the mobile phone, which vibrated -

I'm drinking what is probably my sixth cup of coffee. Good lord this is awful. I hope your morning is better than mine - M

_The coffee? My tea is good at least - B_

No, I make rather good coffee actually - M

John's expression was one of pure horror, mingled with complete and utter distaste, before he seemed rather exasperated. "You read my texts?" he said in disbelief.

"I had to do some research. I didn't look at the pictures," said Sherlock looking nonplussed at his friend. "They were fairly graphic. I didn't know that Mary was so – creative linguistics'-wise. She's got a greater vocabulary than I gave her credit for."

_You'll have to make coffee for me once – B_

I think it would get cold by the time it got to Cardiff though, so I don't know how much you like cold coffee - M

John just gave a bit of a laugh, "Well, that's fine," he said rather cheerily. Sherlock narrowed his eyes in turn.

"You've read mine, then," said Sherlock with narrowed eyes.

"The phone slipped, I picked it up-," said John innocently.

"And happened to read all of the messages between Molly and Ben-," said Sherlock drily, as John gave him a look of irritation.

"The way you talk about him makes him seem real," said John thoughtfully, "So – explain then – a banker - in Cardiff?"

Sherlock just raised his brows, "I don't find that startling, John."

""I thought it would be a greater distance than Cardiff at least?" said John nosily.

"Too far away would give her the suggestion that there's something wrong with "Ben". Man in a foreign country texting you – no. Man in another city too far away – also suspicious. Girlfriends and that sort of thing always crop up, but this distance is attainable, yet unavailable. There's hope, and as we know Molly Hooper is the very essence of optimistic. In conversation about her father being dead, she's frightfully light-hearted contrasting to those who at the mere mention of their beloved make a big wallowing statement," Sherlock said without breath.

"Right, you've thought this through then?" said John a smile playing on his lips. Sherlock just sipped on his tea quietly.

"So – is Molly - funny - on - text - then?" he added in afterthought.

Sherlock looked like he swallowed bile, but he seemed to be giving proper thought to his answer, instead of coming with a sharp retort, "She's different, less nervous and more relaxed. Texting however is different than real life – certainly," he said with raised brows.

"Yes, you're absolutely not who she thinks you are at the moment," said John exasperated.

"Exactly," retorted Sherlock with a brief smile.

* * *

Fixing Molly became a project on it's own, John exclaimed worry about Sherlock losing interest, except Sherlock maintained the texting while answering emails, "Surprisingly enough I can multi-task," said Sherlock proudly at John who just scoffed, before walking off with his cup of coffee. He maintained the texting while doing other mundane tasks, finally putting the phone in silent-mode, when both Mrs Hudson and John were shouting over each other for it to stop.

The texting was widely ordinary, the sort of every-day texting he'd expect from Miss Hooper really, where she'd disclose of the unusual things that would occur at work – bringing humour into the oddest of situations, and Sherlock strangely enough found himself entertained. He had assumed he'd be continuously bored, except for every text sent she got more and more personal.

"I hope you can keep it up, though. Mary's said Molly's been improving, actually, though I think it's because she's had some time to -," he starts before looking pointedly at Sherlock who ignored him. "It's odd how you can make such a nice bloke."

"I used to be him," said Sherlock out of the blue.

"What?" said John startled.

"Yes, well on occasion. Ben was frightfully handy, I haven't used him in years, but he's quite the character," said Sherlock.

"Right," said John baffled. Mary had been going on about him, this Ben character, who despite having been through something himself was properly supportive of Molly, and positive. These were two traits that did not fit the image that was Sherlock Holmes. John just waited until the whole thing blew up in his face.

They'd yet to visit Bart's since the incident, but they hadn't needed to – cases were low at the moment, and Lestrade had been in to visit just in case Sherlock was feeling particularly edgy. He'd wondered like the rest why Sherlock was permanently glued to a low-tech Nokia in the first place, "What's he doing?" he asked peering at him astonished.

"It's a project," John had blurted out, before Sherlock could come with a quick enough reply, "Just another case, you know." Sherlock just eyed John curiously for a moment, before agreeing.

It was on that particularly rainy evening that John was out with Mary, Mrs Hudson was visiting a friend, and Sherlock was bored. Luckily he was not firing guns into the wall or being anything more than spectacularly petulant. He knew for a fact that Molly was busy, busy with work, which had caused her answers to be rather brief, but it was during that evening – studying some blood samples he'd gotten John to pinch from Bart's that he received a text -

Have you ever fancied someone you shouldn't have? Even knowing that, you'd still fancy them, and it felt very good? - M

_What sort of good? - B_

The sort of very bad good sort of feeling - M

_I think you might want to look up a proper word in the dictionary perhaps – B_

I've been drinking – M

Sherlock frowned.

_I thought you were at work - B_

I was on a date, double date with a couple I know, and a mutual friend. God, it was awful Ben. I'm sorry for not telling you – M

Don't worry, you don't need to feel guilty – B

Sherlock texted looking particularly mutinous, explaining why John and Lestrade took to leave together, and why John kept speaking ahead of Lestrade. He had been particularly distracted at that point, to notice that people were trying to shield him from harm. What particular harm could befall him exactly? This was Molly, if she were to get a boyfriend he would have succeeded, and this ridiculous business could take an end.

Too late, and now I'm sitting outside my flat-door, because I've somehow managed to lock myself out. Serves me right. I don't even – God, why do I only fancy bad men? - M

_I don't know if he's got sufficient answers for that – B_

Sherlock brought forward his other proper phone, smoothly texting with it, before pocketing it, as Molly's answer came in.

I suppose it's got something with him being horribly handsome. Well, OK, he's not very attractive, but he's interesting – M

_Who are we talking about exactly? – B_

Of course he knew, though it wasn't before John had blatantly said, "You're the reason. You're the reason they aren't together, apparently Peter got so jealous that you were texting her, and then you were just asking for details about particular cases."

You-know-who, can we call him that? – M

_If you like, but I think it would be more helpful if you were to address the subject at hand possibly – B_

Ben, I'm currently smashed sitting on my doormat. I don't want to add more embarrassing incidents to my day. I'm full up really – M

Within seconds – Did you call a locksmith? – M

_I couldn't let you sit out there all day. I'm paying. Now, get into your flat, and don't think about it - B_

Could you be less nice, really? You're the nicest man I've ever met and I've not even met you – M

_I promise you, I'm not - B_

Sherlock smirked at this, rather satisfied – truth be told he'd been slipping, small bits in once in a while, which were what he'd personally have written. It made him less dull in his own mind of course.

What can I ever do to repay you? - M

_I suggest sleep - B_

Ben, you are straight, aren't you? - M

_What? Yes, why do you ask? - B_

I've been honestly waiting for you to start asking about seeing my knickers or something awful - M

_I'm not a pervert, Molly - B_

Doesn't stop one from being a bit – daring - M

Sherlock blinked furiously at this, appropriately stupefied by this statement. The whole aspect of the white cotton knickers evaporated, replaced with something much more – indelicate. He had miscast her somewhat heavily.

_Are you suggesting I ask you for indelicate images? – B_

Oh Ben, that's not exactly what I'm asking, no. No girl wants a chap to ask her for photos, after she's asked him to ask her – M

_You're much more chatty when drunk I've got to say – B_

I'm not drunk. I'm just a wee bit inebriated really. Just a wee bit, but Ben – would you ask me without me asking you to ask me? – M

_If I were to ask you – would you actually send me any images or would this be quietly resolved with no? - B_

I don't know. Ben – can I tell you something?

_I'm afraid you're going to despite what I say - B_

I've always had this fantasy of being pushed up against a wall. In an erotic passionate sense, since being just pushed against a wall would hurt – M

_Good to know, I'd never manage to distinguish the difference - B_

Are you ruder tonight or is that just me? - M

_Is it a problem? - B_

No, I rather like it - M

_Is that one of those things you like then? - B_

Perhaps - M

_I suggest being more detailed in your explanation - B_

I could, but what fun would that be? I'll be drinking from my wine bottle alone. Join me if you can - M

_I've got work tomorrow, so do you – B_

You don't need to be so terribly sensible. You work in a bank Ben. Ben the banker!

_I suggest letting the bottle go Molly – B_

What I'd do if you'd be here? Let's pretend that was your suggestion. I'd preferably be seated in your lap; you'd not be allowed to touch me. You'd be tied to the chair, and I'd undress you – M

_What if I am particularly skilled in getting out of tight situations? –B_

I suggest you not being now, for the sake of the story – M

_Go on, then – B_

Or maybe I'll go to bed, I think that's for the best. Good night Ben – M

_Goodnight Molly – B_

"Pity, it was just about to get interesting," said Sherlock amused, before pocketing the phone.


	3. Chapter 3

He'd have blue eyes, they'd be vast, that's how she'd imagine them, slight cosmic pools, which she'd always wish were looking in her direction, and they were in fact – at least in her head. He'd have dark curls, twisted tendrils that would fall perfectly when he'd bend to collect something. He'd be tall, she never was one for short men, and had always affection for long-limbed gentlemen she had to admit. He'd be flirty, have a deep voice, a bass - one that would entice when whispering in her ear.

He would have a commanding presence, every single gesture decided and important – was she really talking about Ben Smith? Ben probably sat in his grey trousers at home, with a pint in his hand, furrowed brows, as he'd have a buzz-cut. Maybe he'd have one of those ridiculous shiny earrings in one ear – possibly one of the top five reasons Emily cheated on him?

Or maybe he was a sixty year old pervert chewing chips with his mouth open, while laughing madly to himself, as he texted with 15 different women, all foolish enough to send him photograph's of themselves? Then again he could just be a humble sort of man who'd accidentally texted the wrong girl, and gotten severely lucky.

The sort of girl who'd forget her keys in her own flat, she texted Julie who had her spare, but she hadn't answered. Ben however was the hero of the hour, getting her back in again. Molly was happy that at least that was sorted, yet one thing irked her – like something she'd forgotten – she couldn't entirely put her finger on it.

_Go on, then - B_

She laughed a little, blinking furiously at the screen, before saying loudly in hushed tones, "How does he know my address?"

The question echoed in the empty flat. She stared at the phone for a second, pouring herself another glass of wine without hesitation. "He knows my address – how does he know my address?" she continues whispering, as if there's anyone to hear her.

She snorts.

"The internet," she said, but she recalls that she never gave her full name. Not once in the conversation. Of course she imagined that there weren't many Molly's in London who were pathologists, but he barely knew the term. He knew that she worked with corpses, and she never really brought up every single bit of work she did.

She suddenly recalled what the locksmith had said. Bill, a white-bearded man with a massive protruding stomach causing the buttons of his shirt to struggle. "He's always doing this sort of thing," he said giving a chuckle, as he stood fiddling with her door.

"He does?" said Molly red-faced, catching sight of her keys on the kitchen-counter when the door was finally open.

"Yes, though I've never opened a door for a woman before. It is your flat, isn't it?" he had asked her, which Molly found a very odd question indeed.

Why on earth would she want to open someone else's flat? It wasn't before the second glass of wine that she suddenly contemplated the very question that would logically come if she weren't that inebriated.

She hastily texted back–

Or maybe I'll go to bed, I think that's for the best. Good night Ben – M

She gave a deep breath for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened. She went through the texts, scrolling upwards, trying to find some sort of evidence, some sort of – Yes; this is my address, or name – or – any of the sorts.

Of course one could easily look up ones number, but Molly had been particularly careful with that sort of business. One would be constantly rung up by phone-salesmen, and she was always terrible at hanging up on people, so she'd gotten rid of that ages ago. Now, here a man, the man she'd been texting with frequently over the last few days – who'd she'd just started becoming all-too personal with had found her address without any help whatsoever. She drank up the contents of her wine, before sitting down on her sofa properly disgruntled.

"Do they all have to be mental?" she said quietly to herself giving a sigh, before bringing up her mobile phone again.

* * *

His mobile rang.

It was John.

It rang again, he sighed, as he was playing the violin. He yelled for Mrs Hudson, there was no answer. She was out - in the evening? Oh, he recalled – she'd gone off somewhere, a friend, or something. He just shook his head, playing on.

The phone rang again, vibrating a clatter onto the floor, and he was idly focused on his strings, when the landline took to ringing. The landline that was made after Sherlock had set up John's mobile number on the website, and John had found out. The landline specially created for their potential clients. Sherlock picked up the phone gingerly, holding the receiver to his ear.

"I've been ringing your phone for ages – why - haven't you been answering exactly?" said John sounding rather breathy and annoyed.

Sherlock eyed the flat for a moment recalling – the date, of course – he was at Mary's. The hushed tones, breathing erratically on the phone indicated he was hiding perhaps in the bathroom while doing this – a certain echo to the room.

"Busy," he just replied slightly bored.

John gave a derisive snort at the other end, "Do you want to know why I've phoned you then?"

"Isn't that the point of a phone-call perhaps?" he quipped.

"Sherlock," he barked rather loudly now, before he gently said, "I just got a phone call from Lestrade if you knew anything on a - Ben Smith - who's  _apparently_  – possibly working for Moriarty?"

"Moriarty's dead," said Sherlock with a furrow of his brows.

"Yes – I know that Sherlock, I'm just saying – do you want to know who made the phone call then-," said John clearly exasperated. "- Since I think it'll probably interest you to know your doppelganger's accuser."

"Oh-," started Sherlock a smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, apparently _this_ Ben found Molly's address without knowing her name, and you can't look up her address even with her phone-number," said John mock-seriously.

"Yes, you can. That's easily done," said Sherlock in disbelief. The lack of knowledge when it came to technology was startling, anything could be solved with quick searches, but people were too lazy to look into it.

"Well –  _fine_  – I just suggest you sort this out, before Lestrade starts properly digging and everything points back to you," snapped John.

Sherlock paused a little bit, before saying, "Thank you, John."

"You're welcome. Next time answer the bloody phone."

The line went dead; Sherlock put the receiver back down, and frowned. Molly on alcohol did make her particular slow, yet it did make her nervous. He however had slipped – questionable in itself – why had he slipped? He reflected this as his mobile phone went off again, and picked it up this time.

"Hello," he said.

"Yes, I was wondering – do you know a Ben Smith?" asked the voice of Lestrade gingerly, "Molly's a bit of a nervous wreck, some new boyfriend of hers - I know you're familiar with Moriarty's lot – is that name familiar to you?"

"Ah," said Sherlock, "Well, you can tell her detective inspector that there's nothing to worry about. He's a banker, quite innocent, and terribly dull-," he added in his usual tone.

"Why does he have her address then?" asked Lestrade, clearly not entirely convinced.

"She hasn't told him her address yet? Odd thing if he's her boyfriend. Intimacy issues perhaps?" said Sherlock tutting.

"Sherlock," snapped Lestrade.

"He asked me for it - so I gave it to him," retorted Sherlock without any indecision.

"You did?" said Lestrade startled.

"He required some assistance with a locksmith - I notified him of one I use frequently - then he proceeded to ask me if I could find the address itself. Questionable to not ask for the address first – perhaps - but he was worried about a lady friend of his. So - he gave me the number knowing me, and I recognised it as Molly's. I'm quite certain however that Ben Smith won't be strapping any bombs on any of my friends - particularly not from the distance that is Cardiff," said Sherlock rapidly with ease.

"I didn't know you had other friends-," said Lestrade. Sherlock could hear him practically grinning on the other end.

"Client – Greg - not friend –  _client_ -," said Sherlock irritated.

"Well - close enough. I'll phone her up, then. Tell her not to worry-," he retorted.

"Oh, I could do that-," added Sherlock trying to sound helpful.

"No - no – need, I'll deliver the news myself. Thanks - would have used up too much time on this myself," said Lestrade all too quickly, "Thanks."

Sherlock raised a brow, "Yes, well – give her a call. She shouldn't worry about this one," and then he hung up rather dissatisfied, a grim expression on his face.

* * *

Molly groaned the moment her eyes opened, the dizziness hitting her head overwhelmingly fast, as she scuttled into her bathroom quickly - staying longer than intended, paying homage to the toilet - reliving her bottle of red wine. A half hour later, she gave a half-choked phone call to her work, informed them that she'd be late, but didn't call in sick. She never did call in sick, not once having shirked off her duties – she regularly showed up when they asked her, despite cold and despite cracked rib.

She couldn't make her patient's sick exactly, so there was no hazard there. Today however, it was terribly tempting to hide under the covers, not because of the wine, but because of her predicament. She had not texted Ben anymore after last night, not because she felt particularly ashamed of the direction the conversation was going – what was wrong with flirting with a promising stranger? However, the possible indelicate stranger knew the annoying consulting detective, who frequented her lab at times, or morgue depending on the cases he had.

Now, he luckily did neither, yet – Ben had lost his innocence entirely. He knew Sherlock; she had finally thought there was a man who was unconnected to him entirely – who she liked entirely by writing, instead of similarities either by looks or personality. She overlooked the fact that he resembled Sherlock in her own head of course, but here was a man who bore no similarities to him. If she were to go through the various men she'd dated, everyone had one thing that was vastly similar – did she just enjoy the company of bad men? At least Ben didn't want to blow anyone up -

_Good morning, feeling particularly fantastic this morning? Or is daylight not your friend? – B_

She had been possibly a bit too frank with him the night before, but she could hardly imagine him telling Sherlock of this. She doubted that they were particular friends, as Ben seemed to have contacted him that night only.

He was Ben – who always managed to text even at insane hours or at work. The man didn't ever seem to sleep, really – she started to believe there were several men behind Ben Smith. One in the morning who was superbly nice and another one in the evening who was dreadfully cunning. Ben seemed to be keeping his somewhat sarcastic tone however, which she enjoyed. She couldn't take the business entirely too seriously - he lived in Cardiff - not London, and it was only texting. He was also only one man, a man with a photo of Italy, but a man – nonetheless.

A man who occupied her mind during the length of last night's dinner, which was first amongst two friends and a couple, turning into an ambush -

"I don't know what's gotten into John's head. He knows who you like – I've told him all about Ben-," whispered Mary into Molly's ear, as John was chatting with Lestrade, who was as usual his charming self.

"Mary – Ben lives in Cardiff," she whispered back.

"Transport, Molly –  _transport_ ," Mary said knowingly, as if Molly was mad not to consider the man.

Mary had seen the "Ben-effect - look at you – you look glowing – or well, maybe it's because of-," Yes, more or less. The less she saw of Sherlock Holmes the better. He was listening to her for the first time. No, this wasn't the first time she'd banished him, but she was sure he probably didn't even recall those situations whatsoever. Those had been brushed off, ignored, and it seemed that he'd completely blacked out each time. Not that her speeches were particularly convincing with their stammers, and then "Oh, sorry." She did really act as his subordinate at times; she gave a bit of a shake of the head, before slipping her stockings off. She wouldn't meet Ben, which was the idea, which was wonderful. He'd be off in Cardiff, and they'd maintain the friendly discord between them – until both had fully recovered from their respective bad experiences with the opposite sex.

_I hope this hasn't anything to do with last night's texts? – B_

Molly snorted, biting her lip, as she sat now in her lacy black underwear on the bed – or maybe not.

I don't know what you're suggesting. Thank you for the locksmith. He was a very nice man. He fit my mental image of locksmith's entirely – M

_You have mental images of locksmiths? - B_

I've got a mental image of you too, but I suggest we get ourselves a proper breakfast before going further into this. I'm not entirely good enough to describe anything at the moment – M

_Some red wine would cure that - B_

* * *

John entered the flat finding Sherlock gesturing to the chair opposite him quietly. John raised his brows enquiringly, but Sherlock just jerked his head to the chair, as he stood by the window.

"Is this about the almost-disaster I got you out of yesterday? People usually say thank you," said John warily eyeing the cups of tea, one of which he grabbed, sniffing it before taking a tiny sip.

Sherlock just observed quietly, as the nokia got a text. John eyed the phone, the corner of his mouth going upward, as Sherlock silently took the phone looking pleased, until he pocketed the phone – the smile vanished entirely. He stood for a while, before seating himself across John.

Is this a punishment for my behaviour? I hope you aren't offended I was flirting with you? Or what are we doing here exactly? – M

_We're texting. Two consenting adults, or aren't we? – B_

"Molly?" asked John in his silence, "Mary told me that you know – err –  _Ben_ \- yourself - last night – that's quite unexpected."

"Lestrade's not even signed his divorce papers yet, and that's whom you wanted her to go get it off with?" said Sherlock - his expression going from puzzled to affronted within the span of seconds.

John grimaced, opening his mouth to retort, but Sherlock continued, "Not particularly savoury - might cause some problems in our dynamic if things were to go wrong. I can't have Molly up and quitting just because you want everyone to be  _extra_  friendly with each other," he spat vehemently.

Consenting adults? That sounds particular naughty. OK, we are flirting then – M

_Obviously - B_

John gave a hollow laugh, "Your idea is better, then? Right? Because when she hears about this, she'll be really content to be working with you-," John responded heatedly.

"She can easily accept me having done her wrong, than others John. Greg isn't actually a bad man, I don't intend him to be one either-," Sherlock bit back sullen.

John looked at him bemused, "Sorry?" Sherlock's expression was anything but readable.

"I think your scheme is pretty obvious. If Lestrade was indeed intended for Molly, he wasn't really horrified on the aspect of her having gotten herself a boyfriend - some hour or two after your  _supposed_  festivities," snapped Sherlock erratically, standing up from his chair clearly peeved.

John just looked highly amused at this, "Yeah, well-," he started grinning now.

"However I am certain there will be someone available for that – perhaps – not - Lestrade – he's too mixed into his own divorce at the moment-," said Sherlock looking thoughtfully around the flat.

John stared at him with his mouth open, shaking his head a little, before gathering his wits.

"Who is then?" quipped John his brows in his hair, "Since I'm starting to wonder if all this attachment for that phone in particular is due to-," he said pointing at the phone in a suggestive manner.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Don't," he snapped, "I don't have wishy-washy feelings for Molly, John. You've miscast me entirely if you think I'd ever want to enter the role of  _the hero_. I am doing this purely so I can do my studies at Bart's, without having to bribe you to steal things, or have Molly call security on me."

John held his hands up in defeat, but he said the next with some smugness, "None of those things ever stopped you before. You haven't actually been there since, either."

I haven't been anxious if that's what you're saying. Yes, I did give a bit too much information last night, but I'll live. I don't know you however as much as you know me – M

_You have trust issues clearly. What shall I do, then? – B_

"Oh, this settles it - of course John," said Sherlock giving a theatrical gasp, "Yes – of course – her blatant bad coffee making – annoying fidgeting – barefaced wide-eyed stares have ensnared me quite desperately – all of these years of working side by side with her have given a fruition – she is the one, as they say," he yelled, rather maddened, fingers rifling through his hair, as he took large steps through the flat glaring at John.

"No, John - I'll pay her a visit today to satisfy your interest. If I find her entirely helpful – Ben is of no longer use. I'll even inform her myself," he snapped sitting down again – before standing up again hurriedly, as if the seat were on fire.

"Right," John mumbled, concealing his satisfied grin, as Sherlock continued his changeable squirming.

I suggest self-conscious photo taken with your phone. I'll return the favour. Promise! – M

_I haven't got a camera phone. Unfortunately. I'm not technically savvy at all – B_

John just looked at Sherlock astonished, hiding his smile, as his friend picked up his phone giving a tiny smirk at the text, before returning to scowl at him.

This is why I've got trust issues - M

* * *

_You're working? - B_

Oh yes - a particular handsome patient today. If I didn't feel sick I'd probably chat him up. However doctor and patient relationships are strictly prohibited - M

_Obviously you'll have to wait until he's released. However I've got a feeling he'll be less responsive - B_

His reflexes seem sharp - M

_Being tied up to chairs - I don't believe it is entirely his object at staying there – B_

Molly blushed at the recollection, beaming despite herself, almost giving a bit of a squeal at her phone, but she kept that down – in respect to the unfortunate victim.

She heard the doors open in the distant; she blinked, but disregarded it. Sherlock appeared taking in the scene, Molly barely looked in his direction, feeling neither cross nor happy to see him.

"Texting at the morgue? I don't know if-," said Sherlock narrowing his eyes at the corpses tag "Mr Harold is perhaps very pleased with the situation," he added staring at what appeared to be a ninety-year old man, who'd recently been sewn up.

Sherlock looked at her face in surprise, Molly's attention was directed to her phone, which she soon held to her side, still clasped in her hand.

He wouldn't need to change his position really - M

"What do you need then?" she asked giving a big release of breath, not pocketing her phone.

"I just popped in for a chat," he said pleasantly, eyeing her with the usual demeanour he did when he wanted something.

Molly stared at him blankly, "Err – sorry –  _a chat_?" she repeated slowly, trying to understand whether she'd heard correctly.

He gave one of his winning smiles in return, eyes taking in the sight of her work already finished. The paper work was done; the entire procedure was done, except her mind was elsewhere entirely.

"Yes, of course. I was in the neighbourhood," he said quickly, directing his eyes to hers, except her eyes were on her phone again – she was biting her lip. "Waiting for a reply?" he quipped rather sterner than intended.

Molly looked up baffled, "What?" she gave a bit of a giggle, before saying "Sorry, I'm – a bit off my head today - just."

"Yes, I heard," he said rather loudly, but she seemed to be overlooking the statement entirely still eyeing her phone.

She was waiting for his counter part - his Ben to come sweep her away with another text. It was tempting to shove the phone in front of her pert nose - displaying all of the texts they'd been sending back and forth.

He would then see her disbelief, her realization, her anger, before she would run out of the lab in a hurry. She had done that before. He had done that before too, all too many times, and knew how to avoid it – yet it almost escaped his lips, until – "So you know Ben, then?" she asked with a fond smile, looking at him expectantly now, though not at him.

He was used to those eyes being particularly sparkly, but now they were rather distant in turn.

"Yes," he drawled, "I was actually here about that," he said, and now it seemed as if Molly properly saw him, except the look of wonder turned into distaste.

"Please – don't ruin this – I've – I've got no time for it Sherlock, really. I can tolerate having you around, really I can - it's been nice of you – not showing up here lately, but please – let me have this," said Molly in the most serious of expressions, as she bit her lip repeatedly. "Please," she added in his silence, looking at him pleadingly.

He took an intake of breath, "I just wanted to say that he wants to meet you, just. Nothing particularly unusual about that request, I find. We've only worked together once before. It's been some years since I last saw him, but he's probably not changed," said Sherlock adding a tiny smile at the end.

Molly made a face, "Does that mean good or bad?"

"No, I'll keep that secret safely tucked here," he said with a cheery expression tapping on his chest. She looked at him bewildered, but he turned on his heel disappearing out of the morgue before she could ask.

When he finally exited Bart's, he went inside his coat, where he'd patted his chest, and pulled out the phone. He stared at it curiously for a while, as another text came in –

_I heard you want to meet me? Yes, we've got the same friends apparently - It's a small world after all - M_


	4. Chapter 4

_Sherlock told you then? I'm actually coming to London on Friday. If you want to have a coffee that is – B_

I'd like that - M

Sherlock pocketed the phone and strode off.

* * *

There was the coffee, which Sherlock had always complained about, so when Mary had given John a cup brewed by the so-called expert hands of Molly he'd prevented it entirely, until her blue eyes looked at him astonished.

"Oh –  _oh_ – right," she started, before taking a satisfied sip from the cup in her office, as John just looked at his own cup suspiciously. "You do know she gives him the coffee from the cafeteria, then?" Mary added with a small wink, "She's not an idiot you know."

He'd thought for a moment of informing Sherlock about it, but knew he didn't deserve it. John didn't even deserve the good cup of coffee; "Funny that he knows Ben, then," said Mary.

"Yeah - quite," said John with a small nod averting her gaze.

"You know, of all she's told me about him, in the way he's stopped her relationships, more or less you'd almost think-," began Mary who had a quizzical look on her face, before it faded quickly, "No, though – he's – probably –John, what is Sherlock exactly?"

"He's - err – he's - err – I'm not quite sure, actually. There was this thing a while back though, with a woman - Irene was her name, but it didn't work out-," he said inspecting the contents on her desk more thoroughly than needed.

"Why not?" asked Mary in surprise, as she stared at John who kept averting her eyes.

"Moved to America, just," said John quickly looking up at her again.

"Not unexpected exactly. I'm sure most women leave the country when Sherlock Holmes starts flirting with them," she said cheekily drinking up her coffee.

He didn't want to get involved, it wasn't his intention to do what he did, but he knew that if Molly were to hear it from someone else – both of them would be hanged for their acts. He knew that Mary would throttle him if she knew at all, what he'd allowed to happen, but he  _had_  protested. He had been against it from the start, but there was just this idea in his head – an idea that grew into a very funny one indeed allowing it to continue.

Sherlock obviously was bored when he started with his "project" - texts done rapidly with an uninterested expression, before he'd slap the nokia on the table unceremoniously, besides attending to his other duties. This boredom slowly evolved into him keeping the phone tucked in his pocket.

"More convenient," Sherlock explained with knitted brows, a smirk plastered on his face, before he'd pocket the phone without a word.

There were moments when John could hear Sherlock making observations to himself, chuckling or picking up the phone when no text had been received. In the end he had to test it, he had to see if there was even the slimmest chance that the man did indeed have any feelings for the brunette.

If they were still texting, Molly wouldn't stop to inform him, and so when the four were seated for dinner he brought his glass up saying, "Here's to us, I do hope we continue this double-dating business," which caused Mary to tell him off, Lestrade to become severely uncomfortable and Molly to choke on her wine.

Except, instead of Sherlock showing up, or doing anything drastic – the evening ended with Molly half-drunk in embarrassment, as Lestrade reminded them all of his "unavailability". It wasn't before John later on got a call from Lestrade that he was pleasantly aware of Sherlock's little slip.

There it was, the tiny evidence, which soon enough had Sherlock fuming while contradicting him. John then waited for Sherlock to appear with a smarting cheek and a broken extra phone. He did appear, phone still intact, and played the violin the rest of the evening without mentioning a word of his accomplishments.

* * *

How will I know it's you? – M

_I'll be the one with the stupid phone – B_

The next morning John entered Baker Street after being at the shops, crashing into a man who soon dashed off, "Sorry," he exclaimed with a huge grin.

John looked after him in surprise, before reaching up the floor, "Do we have a case?" he asked Sherlock who was standing by the window.

Sherlock wheeled around sternly, "No, just a pesky journalist. Asking questions about your blog."

John chuckled, "Really? You sent him off, then?" said John, his head automatically turning towards the steps, as he felt a bit chuffed.

"Obviously," said Sherlock giving a sigh.

That is rather descriptive. Ben, do give me a little more? - M

_You'll have to ask more specific questions then - B_

"So-," started John seating himself staring at the back of Sherlock's head. Sherlock was still positioned by the window, plucking on the strings of his violin.

"What?" snapped Sherlock glaring at John.

John pursed his lips, "Mary told me that you are going to meet Molly this Friday, or well – Ben is- that is – and that's correct?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Sherlock with no hesitation.

Oh, that's just cruel. Let the mystery continue - M

_How can I identify you? - B_

John snorted, "You're really going through with it, then? She'll absolutely hate you."

"Probably, but it is a chance I am willing to take," said Sherlock, before sitting down observing John for a moment.

I'll bring something. Myself, perhaps – M

_You don't want to describe yourself either then? - B_

"It's good though. Good - you're going to tell her – if you hadn't I'd have told her myself-," Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, before playing a note on his violin. "She might be angry at you for a little while, but it'll pass – I suppose."

I guess Sherlock already told you enough as it were. Certainly not the best description of anyone - M

_He told me that I could trust you and you were his friend – B_

* * *

Molly entered the lab at Bart's carrying files, when she was surprised to find Sherlock standing by the microscope.

"Oh – it's you-," she said, sounding less cross than she was the previous evening, her hand still edging towards the phone in her pocket, "Thank you," she added hurriedly in his silence.

I might have given you the wrong impression – M

_I am certain you'll live up to my expectations - B_

Sherlock just looked up from his microscope, "What for exactly?" he enquired.

"For telling Ben, he could trust me – that was nice of you," said Molly with a curt little nod, "And I'm sorry - for – you know."

Those kinds of sentences make any girl nervous – M

_I do hope so - B_

"Molly, don't apologize," he said sharply.

Molly looked at him rather angrily, until he continued with, "I deserved that entirely."

Her mouth was the great shape of "Oh".

"It might surprise you, but our working relationship has not been the best exactly," said Sherlock avoiding her eyes for a moment.

Molly snorted, "No, it's not been."

"I truly am sorry for having been less than savoury," he said with a smirk. "On more than one occasion, perhaps. Throwing me out was probably one of your greater ideas."

"I have done it before you know," she said sheepishly.

He looked at her surprised, "Oh yes, I've thrown you out before. You just didn't listen. You were always too busy with a case - to ever notice that I was standing up to you."

"I've always noticed," he said slightly affronted.

"Yes, if it was to your benefit at the moment, then yes -," said Molly disgruntled clutching her files to her chest. "All of a sudden you'd take note of something, and I'd - let you get away with everything."

He opened his mouth a little, but didn't know entirely what to say.

"I'm better now – so you can just go as you like - as you  _did_. I'll try not to call the security on you, who are perhaps very lax, since you get in here in the first place," said Molly biting her lip looking in the direction of the door.

"He's really a very nice man, isn't he – Ben – that is?" she asked pushing her hair behind her ear, obviously looking for information.

"I thought you didn't want to know," he said furrowing his brows at her.

Molly contemplated him a moment, "Why do you say that then?" she asked. "There's nothing wrong with him - is there?"

Sherlock grimaced at her.

"I don't – I just-," she said giving a nervous laugh, "I'm just – you know- curious," she blurted, halting in her speech, as her hand clasped around her phone, her palm rather sweaty inside her pocket.

"Interested as to what kind of man you'll meet this Friday? I'm sure; but best not ask too many questions, then," he said in a cheery tone, directing his attentions to the microscope.

"Right," said Molly rolling her eyes, before halting at the door, "He – is - nice, right?"

"Yes," said Sherlock exasperated.

Molly just bit her lip, opened her mouth, clearly rethinking her question, before escaping the lab.

Sherlock got a text immediately after her exit.

Our mutual friend tells me you are a ginger and a dwarf – M

_I assure you I've got dark hair – B_

That's very promising – M

He pocketed the phone, collecting his samples; as it were things were back to normal. There was no issue, there was no problem – his being at Bart's did not give Molly call to throw daggers at him. Snorting he threw his samples in the bin instead, feeling not particularly pleased. He slid on his coat and scarf trying to understand what was irritating him. He had planned everything to the tiniest of details; every thing would be going according to plan, and yet there he was fuming over a man who didn't exist. A man he hated his creation of - fortunately the business would soon take an end to, and he wouldn't need to think of anything in particular, especially not a pair of brown eyes.

* * *

Molly tapped her fingernails on the coffee table; she'd been fixating the last ten minutes on how early she'd been, and how silly she was being. Nervous, wasn't a good enough word for it. She'd been through similar situations with blind dates, and whatnot – what if he didn't show up? She shook her head a minute, trying to avoid fidgeting, as her hands went to her cup of coffee, which did not relax her nerves any better. She put the cup down, stared at her watch, before glancing around in the coffee shop crammed with happily naive people. What if he'd already been there, saw her, and then left? Typical Molly Hooper scaring the man off before he'd had a proper chat with her. She frowned at her phone, he'd barely texted her today, and as she thought that – a text came.

She gasped - was this a cancellation, or what was it?

She reached too quickly, spilling her coffee on the table, while muttering curses under her breath. Luckily just keeping her phone out of reach, as someone handed her some napkins. She thanked him profusely, mopping up the coffee landing on her shoes, when she observed that the person hadn't shifted. She gawked at his black shoes, before gaping at the ridiculous looking phone in his palm. Slowly she looked up at a pair of blue eyes and dark curly hair.

_Hello – B_

_  
_

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was Friday, the anticipation was unsettling, John had been constantly bringing up his watch, as he sat in the quiet that was 221b Baker Street, for Sherlock had gone off God knew where to meet Molly for their  _date_. Now, it was certain the man would receive a blow to the cheek, possibly a drink on the front, or most likely several threats that would lead him into a cell. John looked up from his paper, the words unreadable now, as he heard the familiar sounds of the door opening downstairs. Sherlock's long leaps up the steps did not sound that of an aggravated man, quite the opposite, which caused John to drop his paper and inch or two, before giving it up as a bad job when his friend appeared looking particular pleased with himself. He hung off his coat and scarf, as John tried to see any trace of a man who'd been told off. However, many commonly disliked Sherlock, so that sort of thing would probably peel off, even if Molly were to create a scene.

"It went well, then?" John asked gingerly, when Sherlock seemed to be more preoccupied with setting up his little lab in the kitchen.

"Very," Sherlock replied with a grin that unsettled him, this man seemed to have a plan on his hands, and considering the plan that had set this into motion – John knew that it bode bad news.

"She's not -  _mad_ , then?" he asked not knowing whether to be relieved or not, hoping that indeed his friend was in the clear, and they could all forget the sordid business. Sherlock had been caught up in the act and John had been wrongly assuming that he – had some sort of flimsy affection for her, the fact that the man did not reply made him nervous, however he kept on trying to read the paper. It was then he received the familiar bell of his phone having received a text, he cringed in his seat – well aware that this might be Mary telling him off, or possibly sending him a text with "Wanker", but he knew her well enough that she wouldn't hesitate to take the confrontation face to face. He looked at the text, expecting the worst, only finding himself rather dumbfounded. He took to mouth the words, frowning at the screen, trying to understand -

_Ben is apparently as lovely as he is in text. Very handsome too. See, I told you!_

He took a bit of a breather, folding his newspaper quietly to his side, as he tried to piece it all together.

"Sherlock," he started, as his friend was blatantly ignoring him taking to attend to his miniature lab in the kitchen.

Sherlock just made a throaty sound in assent, "Why is Mary texting me about Ben?" he said with a tiny laugh, but there was no reply. "Since that makes it sound like he – well – exists, and we both know he doesn't," he said tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, before turning entirely round to glare at his friend, "So how did you do it then?" he said with gritted teeth.

"I didn't dress up if that's what you think – well - I did, but I kept a distance-," said Sherlock with a smirk.

John gaped at him.

"You didn't -," started John looking more furious by the second.

"Did what John?" said Sherlock with an innocent expression.

John took an intake of breath, putting on a less agonized countenance, "Sherlock – that man – that man who was here, a while back, that reporter – he wasn't a reporter, was he?"

"That was James," said Sherlock as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"James who, then?" asked John who couldn't contain his anger.

"James Black," added Sherlock looking particular cross at John's questionings.

"Sherlock," said John with his teeth on the edge, "I can't believe you've – you've – I don't – that's it - I'm calling Mary-," John blurted out standing up from his seat hurriedly, understanding that the phone was in his hand, before pressing the keys with force and holding it to his ear.

Sherlock came out from the kitchen holding up a hand, "You haven't heard what I have intended to do yet," he said rather calmly, as John could hear the dialling tone.

John grimaced in turn, "Sherlock, there's honestly nothing you can say. You've hired – someone to bloody seduce Molly I suppose? Are you paying him then, he's getting wages for this – shit – even for you – it's - Molly doesn't deserve that," he said still not hanging up.

"Of course not," said Sherlock clearly affronted by those words, "He's merely going to be a very bad man, as he's an actor – he's well-equipped for this sort of situation."

John narrowed his eyes; "I don't think this sort of situation happens regularly Sherlock. He's an actor – is that supposed to comfort me?" he said heatedly looking livid, as the phone was still pressed to his ear.

"He is not going to seduce her, if that is what you're worried about. He's merrily going to lessen her feelings for Ben," said Sherlock, as if it were a relief.

The two men looked at each other for a moment, Sherlock quietly gesturing to the phone, as John hung up before he'd gotten an answer from his girlfriend. He took a sharp intake of breath, "So you want her to hate him?" he asked incredulous.

"Yes, she is too preoccupied - even for her," said Sherlock with a frown.

"Preoccupied?" said John with a grin on his face, "She's - distracted - I thought you didn't mind her being distracted-," Sherlock raised his brows. "She's always been – well – side-tracked," said John considering how affected Molly was when Sherlock was around.

"Yes,  _distracted_  - to the verge of her sitting with a corpse decked out on the table, when her work was finished a good half hour ago, because she's too busy –  _texting_. She's a 34-year-old woman who's supposed to be doing her job, not wasting her time  _swooning_ ," he snapped.

"In comparison to the 38 year-old-man who texts her back?" said John snorting, "What she does on her own time affects only her. She's still doing her job," he added still holding the phone up threateningly.

"Not as efficiently," spat Sherlock looking rather severe, as if a lovesick woman was frankly too upsetting for him to take. "I can't come into Bart's if she's going to be like this."

"Ah," said John with a grin, seating himself in his chair, giving up the project of the call entirely, as he was properly contended with looking at his gobsmacked friend.

"What?" said Sherlock startled, who obviously didn't understand his friend's sudden smugness.

"You're jealous," remarked John.

"Jealous? I am not -  _jealous_ ," he snarled. "Certainly not envious over a fictional man – who consequently is created by me. No, John - texting with Molly hasn't changed my feelings whatsoever about her. It has made me particular aware that she's extremely silly, and has a tendency to make crude jokes. Yes, she is certainly different, but so am I compared to that  _nice man_  she wants. However you've been right - this cannot continue, and it'll end quite soon today."

John just gave a sigh, "Right - you can pretend that there's nothing going on - I'll let you, but now I certainly won't help you if anything goes wrong this time," he said directing his attention to his paper once more. Sherlock scoffed, before returning to the kitchen.

"I certainly won't be needing your help, John. This will blow over, and everything will go back to normal," he said confidently from the confines of the kitchen.

John just shook his head behind the paper, "So – are they still on a date, then?" he asked gingerly. Sherlock just made a guttural sound, causing John to laugh.

"They  _are_  – funny – you'd think this James character – an actor would be quicker about it - at least he's not a reporter -," said John pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"Of course. If James was a reporter John he'd have been inclined to stop you, as you are undeniably the author of your blog," said Sherlock, "Even if  _I_  am the subject."

John rolled his eyes, "You trust him, then?"

"Yes, he's done me several favours, and owes me a rather large one in particular," said Sherlock content.

"Yes, he did have a certain resemblance to-," started John, before stopping short mid-sentence. "This could go very wrong, you know."

"Why?" asked Sherlock who'd been going it over in his head so many times that he was assured the outcome.

"Well – what if he – starts fancying Molly-," suggested John.

Sherlock looked at John as if he'd eaten bile.

"Molly is certainly not his area," said Sherlock without hesitation.

John mouthed "oh", raising his brows.

"So, you've planned this perfectly then?" he asked.

"Yes," stated Sherlock fiddling with his microscope, staring on some of the odd samples he had lying about.

"You've just forgotten one thing though," said John with a mischievous smile, tossing the paper aside, as he walked out of his chair.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope, drawing his brows together, "Yes, John – educate me," he said sounding particularly bored.

"You have forgotten that Molly likes bastards," said John with a knowing look, raising his brows suggestively, before he disappeared off upstairs.

* * *

John's statement did plague Sherlock quite, making him contemplate if staying at the cafe would have been a much better idea, but he didn't feel inclined to linger. Molly was proper putty in James' hands, as she gave the reaction he'd expected from her – nervous fondling of the hair, awkward smiles, and eyes averting his face. James was sitting with a duplicate of the nokia in his hands as proof of him being "Ben", that and some few lines that he'd been given beforehand. A horrible first was enough to quell the interest, and Molly would encounter the situation without her heart being broken, but regular disappointment, which was how Sherlock was used to see her.

Then he received a text from James -

She wants to go and eat. Should I take her to eat? – J

_No. Make an excuse – SH_

Minutes later -

Too late - J

Sherlock's eyebrows rose –

_I suggest being a bit assertive - SH_

Ten minutes later Sherlock received a phone-call, "Err-," stuttered the man on the phone, who was clearly hiding in the men's lavatory.

"What?" barked Sherlock on the phone.

"I think you might have been giving me the wrong tactic, Sherlock. She's certainly not backing down," said James sounding genuinely worried on the phone.

"Not backing down?" asked Sherlock who despite himself was amused. He dropped the smile as fast as he got it. "Cut it short then."

"Ok, I'll do that. She seems really nice though, odd, this business, don't you think? I'm here pretending to be – well –  _you_ , aren't I?" which caused Sherlock to hang up on him.

* * *

He had thought the texting would stop, as he expected that Molly would be entirely nauseated by the creature before her. The exact opposite happened however.

It was lovely to meet you. You are very much what I expected, which was odd. Nice but odd – M

_You were exactly what I had thought too – B_

Really? I thought you were a bit caught off guard. I suppose I can be a bit upfront at times – M

James had never been a particularly good actor, non-scripted moments weren't his forte, but it was particularly nerve-wracking for him to be startled by -  _Molly_  of all people.

_Another thing I like with you - B_

Sherlock was just glad that he'd get a detailed mail from James about the event, which would apparently have to extend into one more date. After having given this information to John, who just ignored him seated by his own laptop, Sherlock opened his mail, and John said, "You could just stop answering her texts. Pretend that he doesn't like her."

"We'd just begin with what we already had John. I'd rather not go back to Molly being unreasonable at work."

"Yes, you'd rather go back to her fancying you, right?" asked John with a brief smile, causing Sherlock to sneer at him by his laptop.

"No, John," snapped Sherlock, direction his attention to his email. "Having her properly dislike Ben would be beneficial. Not answering her texts would make her assume there was something wrong with  _her_."

John didn't say anything at this; Sherlock was relieved over the silence, and ready to start reading -

"She never made you coffee, you know," said John causing Sherlock to look up from the laptop.

"I'm sorry?" he said disbelieving these words.

"Took some from the cafeteria apparently," he said with a smile.

"I think I'd notice that," said Sherlock doubt etched on his features.

"Really?" said John biting his lip "Must have slipped your mind then - like the address."

Sherlock just scowled in return at his friend, sighing loudly, before finally reading his email.

**To Sherlock Holmes**

**From James Black**

I've got a feeling you're terribly wrong about Mol, Sherlock. (Sherlock wavered before continuing to read) You were right about the start being a bit - awkward, and I was playing her off as a right arrogant git. I've got a feeling she likes that though (wonder why), as it weirdly enough got her to relax around me. It certainly didn't help being hands-on, as you said – especially not at the restaurant, where the proximity was unnerving.

I phoned you at that point, cutting it short (luckily) excusing myself with work, but soon enough I found myself agreeing to another date despite myself. I suggest you don't answer her text and let the thing die out. I am up for meeting her tomorrow, of course, but I won't go any further with her. She's very nice and pretty you know. Not the sort of person anyone wants to lie to, so I sort of hope this ends here.

**To James Black**

**From Sherlock Holmes**

Meet her tomorrow. I'll text you the details.

* * *

"Problem?" asked John listening to Sherlock mutter under his breath.

Sherlock just stilled, "No."

"Good - your girlfriend is texting - you should answer," said John mock-seriously, before pointing at the phone.

Sherlock plucked it up with scorn,

I'm going out tonight. Join me if you want? I'm out with my friend Mary. We're going to be at a place called Heaven – M

_I'll see if I can make it - B_

Sherlock shut his laptop, pocketed the phone, and soon shrugged on his coat. "Where you going?" asked John not looking up, as he typed rather slowly on his laptop.

"Research, John – research," he quipped easily pulling on his scarf, before disappearing off again.

I hope you do. I'll be the one with the red dress - M

* * *

Molly and Mary eyed each other, staring at the massive amounts of vodka shots on the table "You know this is probably the worst idea you've ever had," said Molly nervously blinking at the tiny glasses on their table, which were looked upon nervously by the various men dancing about them. They were in the club known as Heaven, which was well stocked more than usual with a heavy load of men. It was the perfect place to not be disturbed, and have a proper girl's night out, fitting to be called Heaven also.

"I think you getting pissed during dinner – was worse," said Mary cheekily, "It's good this isn't red wine, then, so I can suggest truth or  _drink_."

Molly looked sceptically at Mary, "You can't be serious. We shared a bottle of wine at my flat, I'm already gone as it is, and you expect us to guzzle down every single one of these in rapid speed? If you want my head in your toilet, then yes."

"John's picking us up, so your head in my toilet is an agreement now, promise?" Molly laughed. "I recall your Mr Smith has not texted you since last, considering how much you've been bringing up your phone I think we need a proper distraction, which is why I paid for these," she said gesturing to the sight before them.

"You've got John on standby, then?" asked Molly attentively.

Mary brought up her phone cheerily; jerking her head at Molly's camera phone, causing Molly to hide it away in her handbag.

"So -," started Mary with a smirk, "I've been thinking about various questions, and I've concluded that there's one thing that's haunting me-,"

"Haunting you? That's a weird choice of words-," said Molly with a great deal of mirth.

"Bothering me, then – it's a bit silly really. I'm just – you know - you were describing Ben - does he resemble someone to you?" said Mary waving her hand idly, before looking at Molly apprehensively.

"Who?" asked Molly clearly confounded.

"Oh –  _oh_ – you don't see it, then? Well, I haven't seen him, but it's just – tall – dark curly hair, blue eyed, pale, and well – dresses well-," ranted Mary gesturing wildly with her hands.

"Sounds lovely," said a man who passed them. Both of the women giggled soundly, quieting down again – Mary looking much more serious now.

"Yes, we've agreed that it's a rather gorgeous man you've described, yes - a very handsome man, no doubt – I'm just – Molly – you are getting what I'm trying to say?" asked Mary looking at Molly expectantly.

Molly's brows knitted, before she took a shot. It burned in her throat causing her to hurriedly drink the glass of water - thankfully at her disposal. "That's going to take some getting used to," she yelped clutching her chest.

"Right – so you get me-," asked Mary tapping her fingers on the table erratically.

"I drank Mary - I  _drank_  – could I ask a question this time, then?" Mary gave a guilty nod, "Err – oh – how – how - is John in bed?" said Molly grimacing at the question, at which Mary took a shot instead of answering.

"I'm sorry, but we're not even talking about that," Mary said coughing soundly.

"I didn't have any other better questions," said Molly apologetically shaking of laughter.

"I know, this is going to be rubbish, isn't it?" said Mary light-heartedly, before turning quite serious again, "So are you still in love with Sherlock, then?"

"Oh - I thought you were – all happy for me, since I've found Ben and now you're asking about Sherlock - of all people?" asked Molly rather upset, her laughter all gone.

"Yes, well a woman is entitled to change her mind, don't you think?" said Mary wide-eyed.

Molly looked aghast, "Drink!" she cried out, pouring it down her throat, face contorting, as Mary laughed darkly.

"You're trying to get me pissed Doctor Morstan?" asked Molly as Mary continued to laugh.

Mary took a shot, "That wasn't a question," Molly cried out mock-outraged.

"Too late – so – have you ever seen Sherlock naked?" asked Mary, who obviously was not going to let the subject rest.

"No," said Molly startled. "Is this the point when you tell me  _you_ want to?"

Mary started to soundlessly laugh at this, her whole body shaking at the prospect, as Molly shook her head, trying to think of another question. "Fine, so – err – my turn – god, I hate this-," started Molly, staring out in the crowd grasping for clues, until her eyes widened slightly, "I think – is it?"

Her face was alight, brown eyes beaming, "Ben's here," she said a bit too delighted, blaming it on the vodka.

Mary turned around scanning the area, "I can't see him-," she said squinting at the dancing crowd, but Molly sprang out of her seat in hot pursuit of her Mr Smith.

* * *

It was easy to enter her flat; her cat did however spring forward and claw at his ankles, clearly knowing an intruder when seeing one. Sherlock eyed the surrounding areas, taking in the spotless white surfaces, the lack of frills and pinkness he thought her home would be overwrought, and wondered why on Earth she dressed so silly when her flat was a blend of classic and modern. It was very white, combined with soft-coloured grey, beige and various orchids peppering the windowsills with their vibrant colours. The cat Toby ended up licking his paw, giving up the idea of attacking Sherlock, before seating himself on the creamy sofa.

Sherlock spotted the two wine glasses, and bottle of wine, both glasses with lipstick stains on the edges – "Mary," he muttered, before taking in the label of the wine "Expensive." Peaking into the fridge he saw fresh organic foods in stock, eyed the exclusive looking coffee maker, and mused over why he'd never gone there before – well, it never came up.

He had no reason to invite himself into her home, which was by all means quite different – especially her bookshelf which was decked out with medical books and much more well-kept books than the one ragged copy he had once spotted in her bag. Had she changed and he just didn't notice? He saw the torn-up edition of Pride and Prejudice, picked it up and read the inscription from her father, "Sentiment - of course," he said, before putting it back.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself, before he wandered into her bedroom, opening the wardrobe – there was the Molly he knew; the various layers of frilly un-fitting clothing, but he couldn't ignore the fine clothes that were jammed between. The sort of clothes she apparently did not bring into Bart's. He knew of her background to a certain extent, she didn't come from a rich family, as far as he knew, but then again – here he was being baffled - by the pathologist he kept toying around with for years.

He opened the drawers to her cabinet, now unsurprised to find the most salacious looking undergarments tucked inside, but making him ponder why he never took note of this at Bart's. "Not work-related I suppose," he said with knitted brows, before dropping a black pair of lacy knickers dangling on his fingertip back into the drawer.

He had sent James into the fire apparently, as the lamb turned out to be a lioness. Sherlock smirked, she'd always been so very timid around him, but then he supposed – maybe it was just he who had that effect on her. He closed the drawer with a hurry, shaking the smile off his face, before intending to leave – except the drawer didn't shut properly. He turned around about to slam it closed, when he found himself pulling out the familiar object that blocked it from closing.

An object that was once his, frequently at use, and had gotten lost a while back one Christmas – the very same Christmas he'd accidentally offended Molly.

"Oh," he said in amusement holding the riding crop in his hand.


	6. Chapter 6

I thought I saw you. Did I see you? I probably didn't see you. This will be a whopper of a text. I'm on my third strawberry daiquiri. I think my horrid journey with the red wine this week, made the wine, the vodka and the daiquiri's go down – M

_I suggest water. Avoid my doppelganger. He might be available and living in London – B_

That gives me even a bigger incentive to talk to him. Sure it isn't you wearing a tight-t-shirt? – M

_Quite certain, I am in a white shirt listening to a colleague go on about his taxes. Send help – B_

Sorry, girls before blokes. My friend Mary is terribly pissed, unable to be forced out of Heaven – M

_And you're not? I still suggest water – B_

I am very good in my liquid intake, thank you very much – M

She could imagine him in a white crisp shirt; dark curls dangling, as he'd bent over, his blue eyes examining some blood-samples by her microscope.

Molly put down her drink, splattering some of the red froth on the table, as Mary looked at her dubiously, "What's wrong?" she mouthed, as they'd both given up talking properly, shouting had been a thing for an hour ago, but was now replaced with general silence, as the DJ seemed to turn the volume up the longer they stayed.

"Nothing," she returned, as both women started nodding their heads to the repetitive music. Despite the amounts of alcohol, the truth or drink (which got spilt on the floor, due to the wobbly table), the setting, which was ludicrous – they were if not a tiny bit bored.

"It never turns out how you suppose, does it?" said Molly in their silence, tapping her fingers in time with the music, not entirely up for dancing, as everyone seemed to be a bit more skilled than her in that fashion.

Mary looked at her confused, "What?" she clearly mimed. Molly repeated her sentence, only to receive Mary cupping her ear in turn, trying to understand her. It was to no avail, and Molly took to drink from her daiquiri trying not to think of the certain resemblance her would-be boyfriend had to her previous infatuation. She blamed Mary for suggesting it, yet it comforted her that a random stranger wearing tight-fitting clothes was similar to both the men.

Not that Ben was the sort of man to wear that sort of thing, quite the opposite, as his work didn't really scream nipple-showing t-shirts exactly, which was the general look of everyone there. "You OK?" cried Mary who still nodded to the music, rather uncertainly now, as Molly just beamed in return.

"I'm fantastic!" she lied, as her friend returned the smile. "Just need to go to the toilet," she added standing up. Mary gave an encouraging wink, as Molly eyed the scarily dark hallway leading to the ladies.

"They could have at least lit it a bit properly," she said rather disgruntled. "The rest of the place looks like a Christmas tree, yet there it's dark."

Mary just gestured to her ear, Molly shook her head, and was soon on her way, passing crowds, getting poked by various limbs unintentionally, as several of the men cat-called, but in an over-obvious manner. She just grinned in turn, her fright evaporating, as she knew it wasn't exactly her spot for dark deeds. When she walked in there, the music more subdued, finding some in the most indelicate positions – not entirely out there of course, but almost. She blushed, turned her gaze downwards, trying to avoid staring, which was more difficult than she thought. Picking up the pace, she was very near the ladies, when she saw some familiar dark hair. Was it? He turned abruptly in her direction; blue eyes meeting hers, light hit her face as the ladies opened in the distance. She shielded her eyes a second, as cheekiness overthrew her. Not spending another second thinking it properly through she grabbed him.

* * *

_If your friend is so unreasonably drunk I propose bed – B_

That's quite bold coming from you – M

He had been amused for a second, and then infuriated the next when he pieced it together. It was an easy enough deduction, causing him to snort over his own "Stupid," he snapped, throwing himself into the nearest taxi with haste, irritating himself over James who wasn't answering and John who was also ignoring his texts.

He was going to be quick; he would go in and out – get the man – and leave. It seemed simple enough; of course, the stakes were raised higher however, as the body count was decidedly large in the nightclub. He was very out of his element there he was fully-clothed, the heat unbearable, so he left his recognisable coat and scarf at the wardrobe knowing well that he'd be spotted much easier with it. Without delay he wandered to the darkened halls, his knowledge of James' tastes certainly did help, though that did put them both in the line of fire.

James was never one for good enough lies on the spot, and they needed those if they were going to get out of this. He passed several indelicate situations, blinking his eyes heavily at the smoke that came from unexpected corners, annoying himself over nightclubs in general, as he barely remembered those times spent in a drugged haze – when he heard a sudden cry behind him. His eyes darted back, returning hurriedly to his front, it was Molly, and her heavy-lidded eyes gave off a sense of recognition. He blinked, almost taking to halt, when the doors to the ladies sprang open in the end of the hall, the light pouring out, as James walked out looking aghast at the sight of him. Sherlock was overwhelmed, blinking furiously, thinking on his feet.

He decided on a crucial simple lie, very beneficial for all parties, on why he of all people was indeed in  _Heaven's_  dark corners, filled with people  _having at it._ Yet before he could utter anything he found himself pressed upon the wall by the petite female who spoke in slurred tones. He widened his eyes in shock, as the air was firmly pushed out of him, and he understood her intentions - but before he could stop the venture – she pulled him by his shirt collar down to her mouth with such unexpected fierceness he was promptly taken aback – as her soft lips caressed his, holding his face down to hers, playfully licking his mouth, which tried not to open to her.

His arms stood rigid to the side at first, but her hands forced them around her waist. He was astonished that she had yet to realise who she was kissing, the smell of alcohol evidence enough of why, and her breathing erratic to know where her mind went, as she pressed herself closer to him. He responded against his will, she moaned, and he found himself shutting his eyes, while opening his mouth to hers – tasting the vodka and strawberry. None of the combinations were any of his associations to the slender figure garbed in scarlet. He grabbed her to him now, urge driving him, as he'd forgotten the pleasantness of the act. When he was about to deepen the kiss, forgetting himself entirely - she broke away - chest heaving, eyes cast downwards, as if she was shaken by the turn of events. Her brown eyes looked up, meeting his blue, they broadened, as her now rather swollen lips uttered "Sherlock?"

Her horror was undeniable, her head turned around in all directions, as she gave to swallowing guiltily, "Fuck," she mouthed, and with that Molly ran off realising her monstrous mistake. Sherlock rubbed his face; giving a release of breath he did not know he held, glancing into the direction of the lavatory, finding no James, he brought out his mobile phone -

_I'll let you at it – J_

* * *

It took John ages to get in, quarrelling on the outside of the idiotic door; with the bouncer who wasn't particularly nice, and who's chins were wobbling every time he gave a booming laugh. Blatant luck got him in, that and knowing Sherlock of course, which was purely by someone recognising him from his blog.

The bouncer was so distracted by the turn of events, that John walked in rather smugly, trying to find his girlfriend in the massive room, which was filled to the brim of men dancing, with the occasional woman squashed in-between. He hoped his girlfriend was easy to spot, and luckily she was by herself drinking a colourful drink with a straw, looking less of an adult because of it.

When he reached her table she threw her arms around him, spilling her drink, and laughing madly, before giving him wet kisses on his neck enthusiastically. "I'm sorry - I know how you don't like-," she started at him, green eyes wide.

"You're not Harry," he just said, "Also, you know when to quit."

"What?" she cried out. He just laughed, as the music became loud again, pointing towards the general exit, "Molly," she mouthed baring her teeth. He gave her a nod, looking about, until Molly appeared quite flushed, with mushy red lips. He gestured to her mouth; she took to dry it with her hand, looking if not rather guilty as she grabbed her coat and handbag.

"What's wrong?" he shouted.

She just shook her head in turn, giving Mary a hurried hug, and gestured to the exit. John just nodded, as Molly sped off without another look back. It wasn't before he and Mary followed shortly after, Mary leaning on him, that they met Sherlock who was getting his coat. He gave them a very stern look, clearly disapproving of Mary's drunkenness, and slipped on his coat, before walking out with them. John eyed him warily, eyes darting to his mouth repeatedly, "I stopped a situation from developing," Sherlock said as they met with the outside.

"Right," said John, as Mary looked at Sherlock giggling. "You did, did you now?"

Sherlock's brows knitted, a look of apprehension on his face, before his hand soon slipped over his mouth, "Yes, you might want to get that off, probably, yeah." Sherlock wiped it off displeased.

"Why are –  _you_  - here Sherlock?" asked Mary a bit more seriously now, gaping at the man.

"You heard him – he was here to stop a situation from  _developing_ ," said John smirking at his girlfriend, as he hailed for a taxi.

"Where is Molly, then?" asked Sherlock ignoring the declaration, and Mary's non-stop cackles.

"She's gone off-," said John as the taxi stopped.

"On her own?" Sherlock angrily asked John.

"Yes, well I couldn't really stop her, could I?" jerking his head to Mary, who shut her eyes leaning on his arm now, as he tried to move her towards the taxi.

"So you let her go gallivanting on her own in the middle of the night-," said Sherlock frustrated, observing the numerous roads she could have taken.

"Well - she's not my bloody girlfriend, exactly, is she? She seemed to be able to fend for herself too, unlike some," he said getting Mary into the taxi.

"I resent that-," murmured Mary rather taciturn, shutting her eyes firmly, as John seated himself besides her.

John leaned forward in his seat whispering furiously, "If this is entirely about your bloody crusade to get her back on her feet - just so you can study some stupid tobacco ash - then continue –since her buggering off to another country would do her good, but if there's even the slimmest chance there's more to it (he paused) – I suggest you try to sort out your feelings, soon, before she has your head on a platter," with that note John slammed the door. The taxi drove away leaving Sherlock standing alone, with his hand fondling the nokia tucked inside his pocket.

* * *

Molly sat outside her building, with tears in her eyes; her handbag's contents were on the stone steps, as she took large breaths. This wasn't her evening, more or less, and surprise snogs came with a prize apparently. If someone had told her, that Sherlock would be in  _Heaven_ of all places she'd have told them they were mental. Yet, there he was, for whatever stupid reason, she didn't know, and here she was yet again without her keys. It did not feel whatsoever tempting to text Ben either, as the shame overtook her. "What am I doing?" she moaned face in her hands.

"Clearly not improving the scenario. You have forgotten your keys again?" Sherlock said with distain, his eyes soft, yet his face haughty.

She blinked away her tears, staring at the arrogant man before her, "Not now, please."

"I don't think there is any time better than the present. I have excellent knowledge of getting in and out, without any trouble," he said, without looking at her now, "Or if you wish to sit on your steps, I'll leave you to it Molly."

She stifled her sobs, snorting a bit, "I'm not surprised," she said, slowly picking up the contents of her bag. "Go ahead."

He brought forward a paperclip, with a smug smile, soon running up the stone steps to the entrance, pretending to be fiddling with the lock, when he slipped in the keys he had in his pocket. Molly, who was very organized in every aspect of her being, couldn't by the life of her remember her own keys it seemed when inebriated.

Very helpful that he'd broken in already earlier, so he thought, as he held the door open for her. She picked up her handbag, gradually shuffling past him, avoiding all accidental contact with him, as she walked up the steps ahead of him. Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the walls, and ceilings rather than her shape in the dress. It was the shade, he thought, it was distracting.

He cleared his throat, as they reached her door, she stood aside, and he twiddled with her lock, raising his brows at her pleasantly, as she crossed her arms avoiding his gaze. He slipped the key inside, opening it abruptly, her pace quickened as she past him to walk in – he was careful to drop the keys in her bag.

She stood in the doorway shifting awkwardly, dropping her handbag on the floor, "Why are you here?" she asked after a few seconds of shared silence.

"I knew of your previous reputation with keys, so I thought I might be of assistance," he quipped, starting to move down the steps.

"Right – and why were you at Heaven, then?" she asked him, causing him to stop.

"Do you always question when people help you?" he asked furrowing his brows at her.

She looked furiously red at this, hesitating as she opened her mouth several times, before saying very quickly, "Sherlock, I've just stuck my tongue down your throat - I'm also insanely pissed, and here you are opening doors for me – when the nicest thing you've ever done for me is buy me packets of crisps."

"I was just returning the favour," he said promptly.

"Right -  _favour_ -," she said biting her lip, looking rather nervous now, "Could you please not tell him?"

"I won't tell him," he said much more quietly than intended.

She breathed with relief, "Thank you, I – I thought you were him, you see," she said giggling a little now, eyes crinkling up.

He raised a brow in return, "That's quite a mistake. I suggest not attempting to kiss strangers in darkened hallways without fully knowing who they are, Molly. We wouldn't want you to get detained for being too hands-on," he said cheerily dashing down the steps.

"It was a  _very_  dark hallway," she bit after him, before slamming her door shut.


	7. Chapter 7

She had obviously taken precautions, cleaning it, yet the riding crop was still unhygienic at best. Nevertheless it was the spare, which he thought Mrs Hudson had gotten rid off. The mental image of Molly in her black dress with the sparkly earrings having found it lying about in the living room, sneaking it away in her bag was oddly satisfying.

Then there was the coffee, a simple elegant means of revenge; purely differentiating from all the goodness he thought she had in her. Her extra special smile had a new meaning now, that hopeful look was one entirely different; it was one of secret smugness.

Besides those two things that lingered in the rearmost of his mind, filling up minor spots was the undeniable event that took place the other night.

Ignoring the near accident that brought everything to light, he found himself firmly being tasted by Molly Hooper, who he thought would be quite timid in that division. Yes, he was surprised. However he was not letting the kiss linger. No, he would delete it like the rest of the information he'd gathered.

* * *

She was going to have to tell him - honesty was the key. Still she found herself using a very long time in the bath, choosing an outfit, or running up to get her umbrella, as the weather did look quite bleak. There were constant excuses, endless cuts in her mind-set, as her concentration kept wandering to a pair of lips she had once intensely wondered about.

Now, instead, she was forced to have to accidentally relive what she could only render as a very disturbing experience. Not to say it wasn't good, but when you think you're kissing one man – and you are in fact kissing another – it's certainly a game changer. The sudden rush of blood to the head was distracting, which was why she practically took a run for it. Her imagination had always gone for the brilliant approach - that if ever anything remotely sexual would happen between her and said man; it would happen when he had her pinned against the wall, more or less using her for one of his experiments, as he was indeed coined as a "Virgin," whispered Mary to her one day with raised brows, "Lost all his allure, has he not?"

"That just makes him more interesting," said Molly quietly, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the medical charts before her.

"How on earth does that make him interesting?" said Mary sounding outraged jabbing Molly's side with a pen, as Molly was avoiding her stare.

Molly looked up, saying rather sheepishly, "Because he could, but he doesn't. He doesn't need to, why should he? He's got a mind, a fantastic one at that –  _sex_ – that's nothing compared to that."

Mary just blinked stupidly in return, "Oh - I didn't know you had it this bloody hard. Why not try yourself on his mate – that John – bloke? He's kind of cute," Molly just laughed at this, and that's how John and Mary met in short terms – Mary trying to fix him up with her, only failing spectacularly.

She could easily see him sitting on a chair commanding her to undress, sliding that riding crop to the inside of her thighs, then again that was her imagination. In her imagination he was a very passionate man, however he could just be stiff as a board. That man who would get fervently euphoric over dead corpses could be entirely bored over an actual live one. Still the idea of him with a riding crop in his hand, did indeed entice her to a certain degree. With sweat on his brow, but then again that was then.

The detail that she had sterilized it, with gloves and all at work, sort of brought the sexy out of the object, but she just sort of kept it stored inside her drawer. He certainly didn't deserve the item back, yet she did like bringing it out once in a while remembering how she felt when she saw him with it.

She had speculated if it was his thing, or if it was her thing. She did like her share of –  _well_  - oddities at times, but she hadn't gotten to try full on. It hadn't really come up, or well – most of the sex she had encountered had been acceptable for a lack of a better word.

She never got the chance with Jim, which was at the time due to his flabbergasted enthusiasm for Glee making her slightly wary over him. There was some luck in that, as it was sufficient with one sociopath in her life.

She didn't know how she felt about Ben, who seemed somewhat better in text, than in person – less nervous at least. The fact that he hadn't texted her after last night wasn't very helpful, but he hadn't cancelled their coffee either. She didn't feel tempted to send out a text asking, as it was just too much that Saturday afternoon to be handling more than one thing.

She brought the umbrella over her head, rubbing her temples, and double-checking if indeed her keys were in her pocket – snorting over last night's incident, before bringing out her quiet mobile.

It was odd knowing how much texting had become a thing these days, previously she longed for Sherlock to send in a word. She'd often send him details of cases. He'd never properly answer, and if he was – it was for her to check a minor detail. Come to think it, they never really talked. She'd never really had a proper conversation with the man, which didn't end with one of them walking out or a dead body squashed between them.

She'd asked him out on a coffee, then regretted it the second it had transpired, that and the lipstick, but she wore that now on a regular basis. Not for his sake though - for hers, it wasn't as if he flitted as clockwork into Bart's anymore, and she could time his entrance with her watch. He'd be there, skulking about, stealing samples, and peering at her paperwork making observations, but he barely did that these days. Why on earth was she thinking of him? She'd kissed the man by pure accident, and had to inform Ben about this.

* * *

Where are you? Late? I've got a book with me, so I'll wait a little if you're in a meeting still – M

That's what John read when he picked up the phone from the living room table, hearing the distant eerie concerto that Sherlock was playing in his bedroom of all places. John was used to the man roaming around in the living room, making a great scene of his irritations whether it be of boredom or obsession. The man had done so when it came to Irene Adler, not taking meals, and just playing sad pieces.

He had seemed anything than sad when he returned the night before, slamming doors, looking intensely peeved, before "Going to bed," as he said causing Mary to groan (she had to be brought to their flat, when she accidentally threw up in the taxi).

Mary who also eyed the spare phone with curiosity, and John just put some papers over it, before looking at it later. He took a breather, seeing that the text was at least sent five minutes ago, and at least she hadn't been there an hour. He quickly took to go knocking on Sherlock's door, the music stopped, "Sherlock – is James going to see Molly today?" The music continued.

John frowned, trying to open the door, which was locked. "Are you going to hide in there all day?"

The music took to halt, door unlocking from the inside, as Sherlock popped his head out and said, "Email."

"What?" said John confused.

"Look – at – the – email," said Sherlock rolling his eyes exasperated over John's antics.

John turned around to see the laptop, "OK, I'll go check the email. Will you just come out – eat something – breathe some fresh air – possibly?" he said turning away from his friend, laughing, before seating himself in front of the laptop.

Sherlock soon stood behind him, John looked up at him cautiously, "What am I looking at here?" Sherlock snorted, hurriedly clicking to the inbox at hand, making a small gesture, as John narrowed his eyes before reading,

**To Sherlock Holmes**

_From James Black_

It's probably no surprise why I let you at it, so to speak, I'm sorry Sherlock, but you clearly fancy her – whatever that was – if that was a mistake on her part – it looked like a good one. So, I suggest you sort out your business, and tell her. Or, do what you like, but I'm not helping you anymore. It's too much pressure. David was particularly miffed last night, so I can't stand the unnecessary burden. I hope you don't let the girl sit alone there, though.

Good luck,

J

* * *

"Ah – right – so you're not going. Nobody's going and she'll be sitting there – alone – yes, well – at least text her Sherlock-," said John grimacing at the words before him.

"Text - her?" said Sherlock crossing his arms, "Why would I text her John? I think Molly can handle disappointment."

"Not so long ago you seemed to have a different idea. Now you're just going to let her sit alone waiting for someone who'll never show up?" said John annoyed at his friend.

"People can handle being stood up, John. It's a perfectly wide-known fact that this is regular business," said Sherlock.

"If anything of this had been ordinary, then yes, but you're the one behind this. Not James - you can't just let her sit alone."

"It's in her very nature to deal with rejection. This is just one of those other coffee dates that never came through, un-sent texts, unanswered phone calls in the long series of them – I'm sure," he rattled off, causing John to gape at him.

John looked offended at this, "Do you at all care for her?"

"I care for her in the sense that she's a good pathologist, John. She matters in the sense that's she good at her job, helps me on occasion too-," he said starting to head back to his bedroom.

"Yes, saves your bloody life, she does, and here you are brooding over the fact that it's not you she fancies-," John spat angrily back causing Sherlock to turn around on the spot.

"I'm not-," started Sherlock looking livid.

"Right? Like this isn't what it's all about? Sherlock, you sent in a man to act like you – like  _you_  – not like Ben – not this nice bloke, and those texts aren't ruddy overly friendly either. They're –  _you_  –in a nutshell. Last night you were even wiping off lipstick from your mouth, and you tell me – you don't care – I have a hard time believing that."

"John believe this, I don't have interest in Molly, You might find it hard to imagine, but not everybody is easily manipulated by a pair of doe eyes," he snarled.

"Well, then, go on – go talk to her, have a coffee, tell her of your master-plan, and how that sodding unfolded, because nobody deserves to sit for themselves - like that," said John who then proceeded to chuck the phone at Sherlock who caught it looking severely disgruntled.

* * *

Molly sat with her eyes fixed on her watch, whatever he was – he was late, and she was an idiot. For some odd reason she was convinced it was no point sitting there, with a half-drunk cold coffee waiting for a man who obviously wasn't going to show up, and who hadn't texted her yet either. She was just glad she never took the confrontation on her phone, because she hated that – she'd been there, and it wasn't pleasant.

Late? – M

She texted again, in case he'd missed the first, which he certainly hadn't, but she had to. Her eyes darted about, biting her lip, before her mobile made that familiar tune.

_Yes, I think I might not make it. I'm sorry, this meeting was longer than expected – B_

She peaked immediately, at least he answered, and depending on her form this Saturday morning she certainly wasn't entirely up for meeting him to do the conversation either. It was when she started packing up her things, that her eyes caught sight of the familiar coat and scarf causing her to blanch.

It was Sherlock in a coffee shop, a very foreign thing in her mind, as she knew the man barely ever ate – let alone went to coffee shops. He seemed to be intent on his order, tapping his fingers at the counter, as his eyes started to wander, taking in the place, before they landed on her brown ones.

He gave her a look of recognition, she raised a brow in turn, hoping this was one of those regular nodding of the heads situations, but as she thought so he gave a quick smirk gesturing to her table. She gaped at him, halfway standing up from her seat, hurriedly gesturing to her already packed things, when he swept down and seated himself across her coffee now in his hand.

"I do hope they have good coffee here – you don't seem to be enjoying yours. Taking to open the packets of sugar, I see," he said gesturing to the small tiny residues of broken packaging.

"Sorry – I was just leaving actually –," she said holding on her handbag, giving a brief nod, "Got things to do." Her phone made the familiar sound, Sherlock just looked at her expectantly with one hand in his pocket, and the other on his cup. Molly gazed down at him awkwardly, bringing up her phone from her bag muttering under her breath.

_I think I might make it. Wait. – B_

Molly stared disgruntled on her phone, with gritted teeth, before seating herself down again. "Right, I – can – I can stay longer apparently."

Molly touched the handle of her cold cup, fidgeting a bit, catching those blue eyes staring at her, "So – in the neighbourhood then?"

"I wanted a cup of coffee, yes, John isn't particularly trained to these sort of things," he said.

She gave a slight nod, "Err – not that I don't love chatting with you, right now, as it were, but Ben will be here shortly, actually, so I'd appreciate it if you weren't here – at the mo, as it were," she said trying to not stumble in her words, or stare at his mouth.

"Of course," he said with a wide smile, causing her to blink at him furiously, before breathing in relief as he stood up coffee in hand. He wasn't going to walk off with that porcelain cup was he? Then when she was considering him not be a complete idiot – Sherlock settled himself on the table behind her.

"Wait – what – that's not leaving-," she started turning around to look at him. His back was to hers, and he seemed to give a long sip of his coffee before replying.

"Believe it or not Molly I had intentions of enjoying a cup of coffee. I only sat by your table due to those social habits that John wants me to pick up," he said waspishly not turning his head around.

Molly snorted, "So you're going to just stay – while I have a chat with Ben, then?"

"I hadn't intended to no - I'm not very interested in observing two people being demonstrative," he said with distaste.

Molly nostrils flared, before she swiftly turned around.

"Bearing in mind yesterday - I'd rather you not be here right now Sherlock," she said her voice strained, as her hands cradled her cold cuppa.

"Wouldn't you like to know more about Ben?" he asked rather gingerly, his voice on the point of teasing.

She was curious despite herself.

"I'd rather find out on my own," she lied, hoping he'd leave, so the little voice in the back of her head would quit.

"You're terribly hopeful for a man who lives in Cardiff," he said causing her brows to knit, but she gave no retort – her lips in a thin straight line now. "Distance must be very important to you, then."

"What?" she said startled trying not to turn around.

"You like your men to live far away I suppose - makes an interesting affair - much better than office romance's - that's certain," he said with a smirk.

"You're not actually bringing that up – here -  _now_ , Sherlock-," she said turning now angrily glaring at the back of his head.

"You haven't mentioned Jim to Ben then? That's interesting, why should you conceal that-," he said with a mock-surprised expression.

Molly didn't say anything, taking great breaths instead, nails drumming on her cup.

"- I do hope you have an honest relationship with Ben-," he continued, "It's very important. Honesty. You haven't been entirely truthful with me, that's certain-,"

"I'm sorry? Is this about me and Ben  _or_  me and you?" she asked confused.

"They are very similar, coincidentally," he said delicately.

"Similar? How is this at all similar? Sherlock, why are you really here?" she said staring at the back of his head again.

"Coffee," he said raising his cup of coffee.

She exhaled at this.

"I am sorry if I'm somewhat interested over the lack of vision you have in darkened hallways. You might want to have that looked in on," he said cheekily.

Molly's head turned into his direction again, as she furiously snapped, "I am sorry if me kissing you was so dreadful."

"I do hope the lightings better in here, in that case, you mustn't mistake me for him again," he said looking at the ceiling of the coffee shop brushing her retort aside.

"Believe me - I won't," she said crossing her arms and legs.

They both breathed rather deeply, drinking their coffees simultaneously, causing some of the other guests to stare at them. Molly leaned onto her table, trying to focus on her phone, but she felt looked upon, only to turn finding Sherlock observing her, "He's not coming, then?" he enquired clearly amused, eyeing her phone.

She glowered in return, "He's just late," she mumbled, focusing back to her front, "Stuck in a meeting."

"Of course," said Sherlock who hadn't turned away from her, his focus entirely on her now.

Molly gave a sigh, feeling her neck tense as she looked at him, "What does that mean exactly?" she said rather sheepishly.

"He's obviously lying," said Sherlock with ease taking a sip of his coffee.

"Why would Ben be lying?" she said startled.

Sherlock said nothing, Molly took a deep breath, "Sherlock - tell me, then – what's wrong with him?"

"I'd say there's something wrong with me-," he said watchfully, an odd smile on his face, which she looked disconcerted at.

"That I know already – what are you trying to tell me?" she said feeling very confused. He looked at the pair of brown eyes before him, with a cringe between her brows, looking particularly puzzled, when he opened his mouth – "Hello," said a voice, causing both of them to look up startled into the face of James who looked positively confounded at Sherlock in turn. "Oh – wow – well, that's unexpected? Sherlock – you're here – with Molly – in the coffee shop, that's quite a turn-up," he blurted out, turning a bit pale, before giving a bit of a laugh.

James was by far an horrible actor, yet Sherlock saw Molly give him her undivided attention, even if it was with a raised brow, "Are you OK? Met Sherlock here, he was just leaving actually," she said giving Sherlock a look.

"No, no – stay – you know – you could be here, right? Can't he Molly? I haven't chatted with him in a while, you know – I've actually got some things to say too, so if we could nip out for a mo that would be excellent?" said James giving that all too cheery grin.

Sherlock however stood up, making Molly's shoulders relax, and James look if not apologetic, "You're going, then?" he said with an anxious smile.

"Yes, but I do suggest a text, Ben. We're sufficiently able to keep our conversations short - are we not? Especially when Molly is waiting. Have a lovely coffee on me – bye!" he said all too merrily, his smile dropping the minute he left, slamming the door in his wake.

* * *

John was sitting peacefully enjoying a cup of tea watching the telly, when Sherlock appeared wringing the remote from his hand throwing it to the other side of the room. John just stared at this action, raising his brows at his friend, "You told her, then?" he asked relieved.

"No," spat Sherlock pulling off his scarf and practically throwing his coat aside on the sofa.

"Sherlock!" said John with a sigh, hand rubbing his temples, as he tried to understand.

"Ben showed up," Sherlock spluttered.

"Wait – what?  _Ben_?" said John looking up in surprise.

"James – John –  _James_  showed up. His conscience got a better of him. He obviously assumed I wouldn't be meeting her, and she would be left alone-," he said rather erratically making great gestures with his hands.

"He must know you quite well then," said John with a grin, "I didn't think you'd gone there either."

Sherlock made a face, "John - however entertaining this is for you now – the situation is getting much more dire."

John looked at him questioningly for a moment, "What actually happened at the club, then?"

"Shall I describe it to you? – Flesh out the details – give you the proper insight?" he said vehemently, as John narrowed his eyes, "I was looking for James. I am well aware of the man's habits - I went towards the ladies-," John laughed, "I was about to warn the man, when she flung me onto the wall, and kissed me rather forcibly in the dark, clearly thinking I was her suitor, who then sprang off into the night without so much as a word, and she soon enough took to act similarly."

"We're talking about Molly Hooper here - right?" said John with disbelief, despite his chuckling. "The tiny female who's heads shorter than you, right?"

"John – size - doesn't really matter," said Sherlock raising his brows suggestively, as he towered over his friend who scowled in return.

"What is it you need help with exactly? Just tell James to back off, and then you can talk to her directly – or – wait –  _wait_ ," Sherlock's expression became a ridiculously innocent one. "Oh, finally – there it is – you're going to admit it, then? You do fancy her, don't you?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying rather vigilantly, "Will saying it make you help me?"

John laughed, stopping short, before saying rather grimly, "No, this you'll have to sort out yourself." He fetched the remote, seating himself again, and turned on the telly.

"John," said Sherlock looking if not rather irritated, "You are much more well-versed in these sort of things."

John laughed, eyes going to Sherlock, "Sorry, aren't you the  _text-master_? Can't you just keep it up in text?"

"Yes, as Ben – of course – splendid idea – let's continue the pretence - she'll certainly be delighted about that," said Sherlock disgruntled.

"It was your own bloody idea, remember? Don't turn this on me, I might have been the conductor of bloody light, but you're the one who went through with it," barked John rather heatedly, shutting off the television, and saying with a sigh, "So -  _what_ exactly is it you want me to tell you, then?"

"How is it done?" asked Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" said John staring at him wide-eyed. " _How is it done?_  Isn't the texting a good guide in that direction?"

"Yes, when chances are-," started Sherlock displeased.

"You won't be a massive shit –  _true_  - but Molly likes you like that," said John chortling.

"She certainly seemed very intent on having me go away," said Sherlock rather surly seating himself down in the chair, leaning on the chairs arms, looking if not rather uncomfortable.

"You succeeded in making her fancy your own made up hero, at least," said John shaking his head.

"You said he was very similar to me," said Sherlock pointing at John, as if this was some sort of revelation.

"Yes, you know - loads of sarcastic comments, and general a bit of a-," he stopped up, "Just _you_  - you know."

"She likes that?" Sherlock said confounded.

John looked at him in wonder, "You're really bad at this, aren't you?"

"I am not – I'm perfectly – well – John, I am proficient in feigning sentiment, but having genuine  _feelings_  is particularly unusual to me – or well – rather - I am aware - I just – regularly – there's ways of dealing with these things - except now – I find myself having specific infuriating thoughts – and she pops up in them," said Sherlock wide-eyed, riling through his hair – looking particularly mad.

John gaped at him.

"Apparently," he said with raised brows, "I can barely keep girlfriends down because of you. How am _I_  supposed to learn  _you_  how to flirt?"

"Yes, I have read your emails they aren-," Sherlock reeled off, causing John to put up his hand.

"Don't go on - I'd rather not hear it. Yes, you read my texts, and usually look up everything on my computer – oh – wait - you could do that to Molly, couldn't you? Sneak in on her things, look her up – find out her dirty secrets," suggested John who disliked his own idea the second it came out.

"Already have," said Sherlock with a frown.

"You have?" asked John stupefied.

"Yes," said Sherlock giving a sigh.

"And?" he prodded.

"Her texts should have been a clue John. She is very much like her texts," said Sherlock with an overwhelmed expression on his face.

"Basically she can flirt -  _except_  she can't flirt with you," said John slowly getting it.

"She's more interested in Ben," Sherlock snarled standing up from the chair, hands on his hips, as he started to walk around the flat. "Ben – the fictional hero – Ben - who sympathizes – Ben - who flirts," he growled.

"Sherlock – Ben - isn't bloody real," snorted John, at which the Nokia vibrated on the table.

They both looked at it anxiously, "There it goes off again. Maybe I'll just tell her via text – end this whole thing now, before James does more reckless deeds," said Sherlock with his eyes narrowed on the phone.

"Yes, risking that she'll move out of London," said John.

"She won't move -," said Sherlock particularly shocked by John's theory.

"Yes, like she won't fancy Ben when he acts like a bastard. Or Molly never goes to gay bars or Molly doesn't make good coffee," John said haphazardly, as his friend just groaned in disapproval.

Sherlock ogled the phone, "I could just leave it."

"Yes, then all of a sudden there's another Ben out there – just this time  _he's_  real, and you'll have your way at Bart's again, but that's it. I suggest getting to actually know her, that's it – I've got no better idea - have an actual cup of coffee with her - and talk – just don't try to be so much-," said John pursing his lips all of sudden.

"Yes, John?" said Sherlock in his silence.

"Just text her, would you?" said John aggravated.

Sherlock stretched out to the Nokia, John cleared his throat loudly "You're suggesting I use my own phone?" Sherlock asked.

John looked at him pointedly, "Yes, also tell James it is entirely off - that's it - end of story," said John meaningfully.

"Of course," said Sherlock quietly with a small smile, though he took to pocket the Nokia even though, and John just gave a derisive snort in the background.


	8. Chapter 8

The word  _fancy_  troubled him, one of those stupid words that John used frequently. Words that he'd hear employed in a certain range on television, spoken by blonde haired women who winked off-handily wanting him to bunch up his feet in the sofa snorting over the ridiculousness of it all. He  _didn't_ fancy her. No, that wasn't the word he would use.

He was  _fascinated_.

It was for his benefit if she was chiefly interested in him, and him only. The world seemed in order if this was to happen, but he did not  _fancy_  her as John so indelicately put it. Yes, she took up a certain space in his mind, and he wanted to understand her, but that was because she'd just turned far more stimulating than he had pegged her. The interest though would falter the moment he got completely beneath the skin of Molly Hooper. Her brown eyes would lose their spark, her soft looking skin would lose their flush, and her pleasing mouth would be absolutely contrived and skint, as it once were. There was just one thought that crossed his mind – what if it didn't? What if it increased, strengthening her beauty, and weakening him? He needed a case - he shouldn't be pursuing a woman, even subjecting himself to the idea of  _flirting_  with her, as his own person? It was senseless, the sort of thing one could see happen regularly if one were to go out on a Saturday evening, and more or less due to the onslaught of shrill boredom he was put under. Everything grew much more interesting in those case-less periods, yet he'd barely managed to attend to his studies or do any of the oddities he'd do on a regular basis. No, he had been _texting_.

He stared at the flashing Nokia in his palm, making a face, throwing it hurriedly aside causing it to tumble onto the carpet. Be himself - was John's advice, as it had worked with him for years. Yes, at keeping her at a distance, and him being served dreadful coffee. He gave a laugh. Molly being a vixen, with her unexpected undergarments and nimble fingers – of course now the riding crop was upon his desk, as he was quick to retrieve what was rightfully his.

He found the idea of her surprised face when she discovered it was missing too entertaining, but depending on the dimples that exposed themselves when  _Ben_  appeared it was evident that she would not blink an eye over its being absent.

His phone rang, he raised a brow, before holding it disgruntled to his ear, "Hello James."

There was some hesitant breathing on the other end.

"Molly spent about an hour trying to explain that she'd accidentally snogged you – practically fuming over the fact that you'd been there, and then proceeded to go on a long rant about you being a complete bastard," said James who seemed to be laughing at the other end, "To be honest, it sounds like she fancies you, but that's my thoughts about it – I'm sure you've got better ideas. I suggest you tell her. I better go, Darren's getting antsy," with that James hung up on him, and a smug smile appeared on Sherlock's face. He hurriedly grabbed after the Nokia, raising a brow at it, as he read –

Sorry I went on like that. Hopefully I didn't scare you off - M

* * *

She had been lying in bed, trying to go to sleep, when during her half-awake state her phone had made the familiar buzzing sound on her nightstand. Her eyes opened wide, nerves on the edge, before she quickly grasped for the mobile phone grinning like an idiot -

_I hope your coffee with Ben went well, despite my involvement. He took the news nicely? – SH_

Molly blinked stupidly at the text, opening and shutting her mouth repeatedly, trying to decipher what little writing that was before her. She quickly recalled all of the texts she'd ever sent with Sherlock Holmes to begin with. They were a total of eight in fact, and she knew them all by heart, since she set quite store in them at the time. They would range from "Can you get me a severed head?" to "Give me some samples of Mr Wright's blood." He was texting to her about a specific thing, which was not about anyone dead. She did not know what to find more upsetting – this – or him being in the coffee shop by universal coincidence. This was worse by far; as this was something he chose to do for whatever stupid reason he had. What was he playing at? She narrowed her eyes at the phone.

What do you want? – M

_I was just asking. It is common politeness? We have texted before Molly - SH_

I wouldn't call requests texting exactly – M

She deleted that, pressing firmly into the screen of her phone, blowing hair away from her face -

It went absolutely fine. I am fine too. Everything's fine. Anymore questions? - M

_None in particular – SH_

She gave a tiny groan in her bed laying the phone aside, before hiding properly under her covers in disgrace.

* * *

Molly was staring at Mary and John who were eyeing each other playfully enjoying themselves to her irritation, as she was  _the third wheel_. Here she was on a Sunday slowly trying to sip on red wine, while being quite jealous of her friend's relationship, which was conveniently placed in London and did not involve hysterical amounts of texts.

Mary soon settled down by the table with a bowl of salad, "He hasn't texted, then?" she asked her friend who's phone was currently fixed right besides her plate.

"No," Molly said with a frown scratching on her nose, as her phone blinked, and she gave it a sheepish look.

Mary looked at her in surprise, "What's that, then?"

"Just Sherlock," sighed Molly causing John to halt for a second, as he brought a basket filled with fresh rolls to the table.

"He's texting you – work - I suppose?" asked Mary curiously peering at the phone.

"No, not at all. It's odd actually – I met him in the coffee shop, just before Ben came, and then he proceeded to text me if it went OK," she said chin on her hands.

Mary just nodded slowly at this, while John cleared his throat seating himself, as she opened her mouth to ask more John said rather loudly, "Shouldn't we tuck in then, before the tomato soup gets cold?"

The three of them settled down, slowly eating, while Molly's phone kept blinking.

"He's persistent then?" asked Mary baffled by the constant blinking.

John chewed exceptionally slower at this, a small smile on his face, as he eyed the phone on the table.

"I've not been answering really," said Molly rather quietly dabbing a napkin on her mouth.

"What happened on Friday then – you never said – I was perhaps a bit out of it to make anything of it at the time," said Mary.

"Understatement - perhaps?" quipped John causing Mary to grimace at him.

"So – what happened?" Mary repeated.

Molly blushed at this putting the napkin aside, "This is going to sound very silly, and it is in fact very silly. Quite – actually - but he was – err – there-," said Molly her face a scarlet shade.

"Yes, that I got," said Mary grinning, "Sherlock in a gay bar of all places, it's very difficult to ignore him."

Molly snorted, "Well, I mistook him for Ben in a very dark hallway - mind you - and I – I -  _snogged_  him."

"Oh," said Mary wide-eyed. "Really?"

Molly nodded repeatedly as Mary took in the information, "I ran after that though, ended up with him showing up outside my flat - probably deduced that I'd managed to forget my keys, which I had – in my bag – though I struggled trying to find them," Molly awkwardly exclaimed.

John just kept quiet eyeing both women anxiously, concealing his apprehension of the topic by buttering his bread rather intently.

"John," drawled Mary.

"Yes?" he said dipping his bread into the homemade soup.

"How come you didn't tell me about this?" she wondered.

"It's not really a case is it? - I'm not going to  _blog_  about this," said John with a little chuckle, as Mary gave him a sharp look. "Anyway - I thought they'd sort it out between them. He's just trying to be nice, you know."

"Nice?" said the ladies in unison.

John read the doubt in their faces slowly taking soup into his mouth. The doorbell went off in the distance John stood up quite quickly, "I'll just get that," he said with a grin practically running towards the door. He gave a bit of a breath before opening it, expecting something entirely different than Sherlock who looked at him with a pleasant expression.

John's smile turned rather coarse after that, he hurriedly stepped out into the hallway closing the front door, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You said you were going to have dinner with Mary and Molly," said Sherlock.

"Yes, I am –  _I_  am having dinner with them. This invite didn't stretch out to you," said John trying to keep his voice low.

"Is someone else joining you then John?" asked Sherlock eyeing his friend curiously.

"No, Sherlock - no one else will, but I don't think they'll be so happy to see you right now," said John eyeing the door nervously.

"Why not?" said Sherlock looking if not rather murderous.

"She hasn't been answering your texts - isn't that a clue enough?" asked John pointedly.

Sherlock looked at him obviously perplexed by this, "She has been answering my texts," at which Sherlock brought up his own phone brandishing it in front of John's nose. John read some of it briefly, before -

"Wait – Sherlock – are you also texting her as Ben?" gaped John, when the door opened and Mary popped her head out "Who's – oh –  _oh_  – Sherlock – what are you doing here then– case?" she said walking properly out staring at the two men.

"No, there's no case," said John who was grinning all too brightly. "Just – he -," continued John not knowing what sort of excuse he could come with.

"John invited me," beamed Sherlock.

Mary looked at Sherlock uneasily and to John who just gave her a shrug, "You did? I suppose there's enough soup – if you want some – I know you prefer Asian, but-," she started.

"Sounds delightful," said Sherlock pushing her aside, and stepping inside the flat. Mary raised her brow at this action glaring at John who followed her rather guiltily back inside again.

"Why did you invite him?" she whispered into his ear.

"He seemed – err – lonely," apologised John causing Mary to blink at him stupidly.

The moment Sherlock entered the questionable kitchen at hand, taking in the various homey qualities which Mary Morstan's flat possessed from the unwashed dishes to the attempt of a miniature herb garden – he past through to the tiny dining room where Molly was texting somewhat swiftly, "Sorry – I just-," she mumbled turning around to face him with a half-smiling face, until her expression was exceptionally shocked.

It suited her, her brown eyes widened, the flush crept on her cheeks, and she just mouthed "Oh, right," before hiding her mobile phone away in her bag.

Sherlock just raised a brow tentatively gesturing to the vacant chair besides her, "You don't mind?" he enquired.

"No - not at all," she said her eyes cast downwards now, as she seemed to be thinking rather quickly.

He seated himself besides her imperiously, for it was odd, he had indeed been texting with her, as himself, but she seemed to have felt the need to lie. He could hear Mary and John bickering in the hallway, almost grinning at John's mangled attempts to try and make it plausible he'd asked him without really considering he'd show up.

Molly ate her soup in silence, furrow between her brows, her fingers gently caressing the spoon – she took to stop, "You're - staring – what is it?" she said all of a sudden.

He gave her an innocent look, before fetching himself a plate and glass in the kitchen.

* * *

Sherlock observed his phone on the table, his hands on the strings of his violin, as he was seated in his regular chair in the living room. He brought the bow roughly on the strings with his mouth pursed, as the phone remained quiet. This was maybe the end of it all, the end of Ben and certainly the end of  _texting_. It was perhaps a much better thing to let it all quietly die out, than trying to proceed with it, as John had suggested. Ask her out on a coffee - it was an idiotic idea, yet he had showed up in the coffee shop, but that was not planned. He knew not if she would receive him instead of Ben. His hands itched to rediscover the Nokia. He could continue, never properly seeing her, and never letting her meet Ben again. What would that gain however?

He set his violin aside frowning at the idea that he was waiting for a reply – an answer that would determine the course of events. Pressing his palms together he waited knowing that it would likely end here, it was then his phone light up, and he brought it up with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Why did you go to a gay bar? You never said – M

_A case. I don't frequent those kinds of places exactly – SH_

How come John didn't join you on this one? - M

_He did, but it was conveniently where Mary was. I don't need him on every case - SH_

I suppose it went all right then? –M

_Quite nicely, though there were some distractions -SH_

Sorry about that really. I never thought you were who you were – M

_My thoughts exactly, I'll try to avoid being in your way to avoid future embarrassment for your sake - SH_

Thank you, that's really nice of you -M

_I sense some anger -SH_

Some? Well, thank you for being observant on my lack of keys too - M

_I'm here to help -SH_

_Are you really? - M_

_I suppose you find this texting a bit surprising -SH_

Yes, I do in fact. I suppose Ben's the reason you're texting me then? -M

_You could say that - SH_

Tell me then -M

_Tell you what exactly? -SH_

What's wrong with him Sherlock? -M

_I'd rather take that in person - SH_

Oh God. Is this a dumping conversation? -M

_I'm sorry? -SH_

Sherlock, it's obvious. Ben doesn't want to text with me, so he's gotten you to do it instead - M

_I haven't actually spoken with him so I wouldn't know -SH_

Oh. Sorry - M

_No, need to apologise. I'm sorry if he doesn't reply you -SH_

It's not your fault - M

_It feels as such - SH_

Thank you. I think? - M

* * *

Mary and John sat awkwardly at the table, for their heated conversation did indeed reach the ears of their guests.

"So – I suppose a toast is in order?" asked Mary clearing her throat.

Sherlock looked exasperated at this yet brought his glass up grudgingly, while John tried to hide his laugh. They all banged their glasses together; Sherlock deliberately clinked Molly's glass last, looking in her eyes with that straightforward blue gaze of his. She looked at him in general bafflement taking a much larger sip than needed.

"Right – tuck in," continued Mary who obviously was not inclined for a proper conversation this time around.

They all ate quietly with general nervous energy, all excepting Sherlock who was taking his time enjoying the soup and eating it in a manner that caused Mary to gape at him in wonder.

"Do you really eat like that?" she asked.

John laughed soon covering his mouth with a napkin.

"Manners," quipped Sherlock, as if it were reply enough.

"Right – sorry," she mumbled, directing her attention to Molly, before her brows knitted properly, and she looked in the direction of Sherlock in disbelief. "Err – you know what – Molly – I need some help with desert -,"

John half stood up from his chair, "I could hel-," he started, and Mary just waved her hand at him.

"Oh – no – I'm sure Molly would like to help me, wouldn't you?" asked Mary as Molly pointedly avoided her scrutiny, before standing reluctantly up from her seat. The two women went off to the kitchen much whispering happening between them.

"Mary's quicker than I suspected," said Sherlock with something seeming to be admiration, before his hand was soon in Molly's handbag.

"What are you doing?" whispered John.

Sherlock brought up Molly's phone proceeding to frown at it, before dropping it hurriedly inside the bag again.

"Sherlock – what's going on?"

"John, I have only been texting her from my own phone," said Sherlock in a low voice, which only confused his friend even more.

"Who's been texting her then?"

"Her ex it seems," said Sherlock with a sneer. "She finally replied when I came in - which is why your girlfriend is now speaking with her in the kitchen," he ended putting on a pleasant smile, when the two women reappeared.

"Dessert is fine then?" asked Sherlock attentively.

"Yes –  _yes_  – it's very good," said Mary seating herself again. Molly settled down besides Sherlock accidentally brushing against him, looking at him apologetically.

"I don't have an issue with physical contact," remarked Sherlock.

"You're not actually going to bring it up at dinner are you?" challenged Molly. There was a great deal of mirth in those brown eyes of hers.

"When should I? When Mary pops out the tub of ice cream as dessert?" asked Sherlock causing Mary to frown.

"How did you-," she started, until she just kept her mouth shut remembering what John had always told her.

"I saw the receipt on the kitchen counter. I didn't know you needed help with ice cream exactly," he remarked.

Molly snorted, "Right – then – yes - we snogged – fine? I told Mary before you came, and John probably knows from before."

"Yes," said John.

"So, are we good on the whole snogging thing now? Everyone knows, even Ben knows, which is why he's probably not texting," said Molly derisively dropping her spoon not feeling very hungry anymore.

"Ben lives in Cardiff though," said Mary causing Molly to look at her.

"Yes –  _yes_  – he does - thank you Mary for pointing that out, and he also hasn't cheated as far as my knowledge goes, so I'd think-," said Molly who took to empty the contents of her glass before continuing, "That he's a good man."

"On paper yes, a good man on paper," quipped Mary.

Molly threw daggers at her friend helping herself to the bottle of red wine on the table, before pouring more into her glass.

"I suggest water," said Sherlock causing Molly to blink at him.

"I'm very good at - oh –  _oh_ – right," she said confused, before taking to drink from the glass of water.

John interrupted her confusion, "How's work then Molly?"

Molly smiled, "It's fine, not much happening at the moment, but it's good really considering my less than – err - alive patients. Any exciting cases of late then? Your blog hasn't updated in a while."

"Not much happening really. Just Sherlock being Sherlock," said John with a laugh.

Sherlock raised a brow, "Yes, it is rather quiet these days."

"You're keeping yourself occupied then? I know how you can be," said Molly.

"How am I then?" asked Sherlock rather intently.

Molly stared at him for a moment, as he was observing her while quietly drinking of his red wine. She had never seen him drink in her life.

"I'm sure something will turn up," said John causing Molly to look at him.

"Yes, probably," she mused taking to eat her soup again.

"You're avoiding the question," said Sherlock.

Molly blanched, "Sorry? Avoiding the question. I'm not avoiding anything," she said.

"How am I then Molly?" asked Sherlock.

She gaped at him a little about to answer when John's mobile phone went off; he excused him from the table, and took it in the kitchen.

Molly pondered the question put to her, frowning albeit, as Mary looked at this with interest, "You're brilliant and difficult, which is the only way you could be I suppose, especially when you're bored."

"I wouldn't say I was bored," said Sherlock.

Molly was about to reply when John returned looking very serious, "It was Lestrade – we've got a case – Mary I-," started John.

"Just go," Mary said offhandedly taking to drink her wine, "There'll be more ice cream for us."

Sherlock stood up brusquely giving a sharp nod to the women, "Have a pleasant evening," he said causing both of them to look at him wonder, before he took off quickly followed by John who shouted he'd phone.

Mary heard the front door shut before she cheekily asked, "So – is he actually texting you then?"

"I – he's – well – yes, he is," said Molly drinking some wine, before bringing up her phone.

_I'd say I was fascinated - SH_


	9. Chapter 9

Four days had gone since she had heard the slightest word from the dark haired man with blue eyes. He was as if vanished from the world - she felt tempted to phone him – asking why he'd given up entirely, but she sort of knew why. Her opening her mouth was inevitable. Ben Smith was without a doubt a finished chapter to her annoyance. Instead a new man was texting her, first phoning her repeatedly, and then texting when she gave him no answer.

Her ex Peter was an idiot who thought that phoning her pissed was a brilliant idea of winning her back, "But – but – it was that She-rr-lock blokes fault – you know –  _right_  – Mol – right?" she heard, trying to utter some syllables into his slurred meanings, coaxing and dissuading him, but to no avail, "Bloody Holmes-s-s fault innit?"

Causing her to promptly hang up on him, while still under her covers, her phone going off from texts from Peter or Sherlock who was one of the main issues in their relationship to begin with.

Sherlock Holmes had not been texting her _then_  – now - however - he was, except he hadn't in the last three days. She suspected that whatever had persuaded him to do so would probably without a doubt disappear. Not that she knew what that reason was, yet she found herself unwillingly wondering what he meant, especially when Mary had said, "You know – if I didn't know it better I'd think he was flirting."

"No, - _no_  - I just think he's trying to be - err - nice-," said Molly uneasily jabbing a spoon into the bucket of ice cream they shared.

Mary looked at her in general disbelief, "Yes, because Sherlock just decides to be nice. There is most certainly an agenda to it. At least that's what John says."

"I thought you liked Ben –  _now_  – you don't like Ben?"

"Ben's not texting you-," said Mary pointedly.

"Peter is texting me-," Molly retorted.

Mary gave a shrill laugh, "Yes, Peter  _is_  texting you, but I am definitively not saying Peter," she said rather knowingly.

Molly just crammed a spoon of ice cream into her mouth chewing thoughtfully.

In the end, despite herself, and all she knew she found herself being more watchful of her mobile – not knowing if she was in fact expecting a text from Ben  _or_  Sherlock. The lines between the two men were certainly blurred, and her heart caught in her throat every time she received a text.

'What?" she said startled as Mary eyed her in the cafeteria, her fork barely touching her fruit salad.

"You're looking at your phone," Mary said.

Molly dropped the phone into her pocket.

"John says they're busy with the case," added Mary drinking her coffee.

"Mary – I am definitively not waiting for Sherlock to text me," said Molly rather forcibly.

"Right," said Mary.

* * *

John had noticed it; the phone had been entirely forgotten, excepting the rushed phone calls or searches done to acquire more information for their case. Molly Hooper seemed to be the last thing in Sherlock's mind, as it was now so  _deliciously occupied_  with a murder that was. It was when they were taking a breather at a restaurant, that in the midst of his noodles he asked "So – have you texted her then?"

"Who?" said Sherlock who was currently on his phone texting Lestrade some details.

"Molly," said John with raised brows.

Sherlock gave to roll his eyes, still texting.

"Is that it then – that's the end of that?" asked John in his silence.

Sherlock breathed deeply at this, before pocketing his phone, leaning himself calmly back in his chair. "John – we are in the middle of a case – a rather good one at that - and you want a  _tête-à-tête_  in the midst of it?" he exclaimed self-righteously.

John grinned, "Yes, I'd like to - actually – since this has been going on for a while, you know, and now – suddenly you've forgotten her. Not that I'm surprised really," said John who then proceeded to eat quietly.

"Why is that?" asked Sherlock with narrowed eyes.

"Well – I didn't expect it to last - to be honest."

Sherlock just raised a brow at this, "Come along John," he said standing up. John, who was in mid-chew made a disgruntled noise, as Sherlock soon disappeared off – John soon threw money on the table, before leaping after his friend.

* * *

Molly slipped off her gloves, she'd been spending time hunched over the microscope too long now, and it was tiring on her eyes. She stifled a yawn picking up her paperwork and jotting down some few last words, before calling it quits, when her phone gave a sound, irritated she picked it up expecting to see another attempt by Peter –  _Let's have lunch. Talk it out. You and Me,_  but was surprised to find -

_Coffee? – SH_

"Coffee?" she said giving another yawn, as the doors to the lab were slammed open, and the sender in question appeared brandishing two cups of coffee.

"Oh," she said mildly confused. "Coffee."

Sherlock just looked at her appraisingly; "Done for the day?" he said walking towards her slowly holding one out for her.

"I – I - yes," she said taking hold of one coffee, "You –err - finished with that case of yours then?"

"Yes," he replied.

She gave a brief nod taking a sip off her coffee, peering at him from the side, "Sherlock – what is this?"

"It's certainly not from the canteen," he said.

She looked at him bewildered, "I can taste that – err – _no_  – I just mean, what - well –what do you want?"

"Just a pleasant conversation and –  _coffee_ ," he said lifting up his Styrofoam cup with a quick smile. She bit her lip and kept on drinking from her cup. "You haven't heard from Ben then?"

She looked at him surprised, "No – not exactly no, haven't heard from him for days, but I'm not expecting anything really."

"Why not?"

"You've probably scared him off," said Molly self-consciously.

Sherlock looked at her in surprise, "I'm sorry?"

Molly chuckled, "Oh, you know – I told him that we snogged – I think I properly scared him off. Well, I do scare most men off with my post-mortems. Not something you can bring up over chicken tikka exactly, though Peter never bothered, but he is a doctor."

"Yes – Peter," said Sherlock looking if not rather offended. Molly blinked at him taking to drink more from her coffee. "John informed me of your relationship. I'm at a loss as to why you didn't bring him in."

"So you could have told me what was wrong with him too?" asked Molly smiling. Sherlock made a face. "I'd rather not have that, as it were, and well – Ben – you can tell me his dirty secrets now really. I am quite ready."

"No – I think I'll spare them for later – what are your plans for this evening?" he asked with an harmless expression.

"Why – are you asking?" she said giggling.

"Yes," he replied.

She stopped laughing, "Oh – oh – right –  _wait_  – what?"

"I just wondered if you were - hungry?" he asked raising a brow.

"Well, I suppose I am – I've just eaten some crisps – not really any proper food," she said blinking furiously at this, trying to remember her diet.

"I am usually starving after a case myself," he said with a small smile, "I know of a good Indian place - if you want?"

Molly looked at him oddly for a moment, taking a breath, "Right – I'll just fetch my things, then?" She soon wandered out clinging to her papers, hearing steps behind her, turning her head, and spotting Sherlock who was indeed trailing behind her. "Are you following me?"

"Isn't it common courtesy?" he said with a grimace.

Molly just looked at him sceptically continuing to walk, her eyes darting behind her, as she muttered, "Ben must certainly be something."

Sherlock raised his brows, "Why do you say?"

Molly took to stop in the hallway, "You're being awfully kind - Sherlock – it's just – well – obviously there's something very wrong with him." He didn't reply; "This isn't the point where you tell me he's actually a bad bloke, or something? Since I'm sort of sick of men who try to off my friends," she said looking up at his blue eyes expectantly – he looked at her in turn with his very knowing  _you're being an idiot_ -face, "Or – you're just being nice, then?"

"Obviously," he quipped pleasantly back.

"Oh – right," she said with a strained smile.

* * *

He looked at her in the taxi – properly. Here she was without her mobile, without words to hide behind, and he could see her as she fully was. Yes, he had given the case his full attention, but in the moment it was solved his attention wandered. He contemplated that the case wasn't big enough for his concentration, that if he were to go abroad for a longer time - maybe this peculiar feeling would subside – this fascination would ebb. His phone went off, he picked it up disgruntled, before hiding it away again.

_How is it going? - JW_

Sherlock proceeded to almost glare at her; she had her hands folded in her lap, eyes looking out of the window, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He did not suspect the faintest hint of a blush, despite the fact that she retrieved her phone, and he caught sight of it being from the dreaded ex, but she soon hid it away again.

Her hair was ordinary, her complexion fine and her form slender – he'd give her that, for she was not unattractive. He knew that most of her unsuccessful attempts with men had to be with the way she spoke; yet James had been rather frightened by her rather upfront manner. He knew she was blunt, for she spoke quite direct, but he had not properly encountered that side of her – they had barely spoken, except on text. Sherlock made a derisive snort, when his phone made another sound.

_Be nice - JW_

Their conversation would certainly be stilted, not at all comparable to that which had been between them prior to this, and which would most likely end all thoughts in direction to this soft eyed brunette who soon turned to look round at him, "What's wrong?" she said with furrowed brows.

"Why do you assume something's wrong?"

"You're glaring at me," she said bluntly.

He was certainly caught off guard, "I am not glaring."

"OK – you're staring – is it my face – then? I've been stuck in the morgue for about three days – a bit peaky I know, but compared to you I am rather brown," she said cheekily.

"I am not-," he started, abruptly stopping, "Molly – why do you like Ben?"

"Oh – right - Ben," she said rather hesitantly. "Well, he's – err – well, I don't know. I just do - I suppose – it's fun – the texting bit that is."

"Wasn't meeting him as equally good?"

"He is handsome, yes, but – he just – he seemed so different, you know. One minute he was very dark, and the other he was very – cheerful," she said looking a bit lost.

"Which did you like best?" he enquired truly puzzled.

She took to look back out of the window at this, a small almost secret smile on her face, as she said, "When he was dark."

Sherlock released a breath he did not know he held, the taxi took to halt, and they both stepped out – he paid without a thought, as she soon tried to give him some notes. It seemed to be as if she truly thought this was  _friendly._ He himself hadn't properly decided what his intent was when he fled Baker Street, but he knew that it involved pulling the plug on this escapade as it were. Revealing the truth would certainly end it all.

"Every single bloke I've ever been with who's been tremendously cheery, has been on the other hand frightfully boring, it's not that I'm against cheerful people, as I'm not – well – you know – sorry, I'm talking too much – bit tired," she said as they entered the restaurant.

"No, it's interesting," he said, "I'd always taken you for one to like happy men."

She chortled at this, he looked at her mystified, as they were soon seated and given menus.

"You probably think I want to get married and have kids, then?" she asked him leaning over her menu. He raised a brow, as she gave a beam, "Not really my area," she said.

"Oh," he said his eyes flickering for a second, as he caught sight of the black see-through lingerie revealed as she was leaning on the table. "That's why you have the cat to compensate," he said looking up.

"I wouldn't call it compen- you know about Toby?" she said surprised.

"I read your blog," he countered.

"I shouldn't really be surprised – you're always on top of these things, the occasional cat hair probably gave it away or something-," she said looking down her front.

"That too, and the blog entry about the cat. What was your original naming idea?" At this she blushed, soon leaning back into her chair, and hiding away what his eyes kept darting towards – the menu properly propped up on the table in front of her shielding her face.

"Fluffy-," she retorted biting her lip.

"Doubtful – I specifically read that there was a person you had thought about when conjuring names-," he said as if he didn't know.

"He's a very good friend of mine," she said mock-seriously now looking at him with those wide eyes of hers, "Been friends for years me and Fluffy that is."

"Avoid it all you want, then," he said snapping his menu shut, as the waiter came around.

"I shall," she quipped, and the waiter took their orders. Oddly enough their tastes were terribly similar, except Sherlock took his meal with water, and she with wine.

When the waiter finally left he took a breath, "So you liked him dark then?"

"Fluffy?" she said surprised.

"Ben," he said rather severely.

"Oh," she grinned.

"Molly – don't play with me," he said rather sternly.

She gaped, "I'm not Sherlock – why are we having dinner?"

"I was hungry," he remarked.

"So am I," she said wide-eyed.

He narrowed his eyes at her rather playful ones, "Fine, yes, I like my men serious. Happy? Peter was very serious."

"He was?"

"Yes – until it was over, and then everything else was wrong," she said looking weary.

"Why did that end?"

"Peter's ridiculous jealousy, he thought you texting me about corpses and what-not meant that you fancied me. He was clearly reading into things a bit hard," she said looking rather angry now.

Molly's phone blinked silently, "Still is in fact. I might as well text him who I'm having dinner with - you don't mind?" she said bringing up her phone properly.

"Go ahead," he said with a vague smile.

She grinned, intent on her texting, before dropping the phone into her bag without considering waiting for Peter's reply. The waiter returned with their drinks now, and Molly clung to her wine smiling at the glass that was poured to her.

"How about yourself?" she asked after she took a sip.

"Me?" he replied surprised.

"Yes, since you're asking an awful lot of questions about me – I'd like to actually hear some of your stories – if you – err – got any – or maybe not," she said seeing the look in his eye.

"I've never had – dinner," he said.

"Sorry?"

He smiled, "I've never had occasion to be on rendezvous Molly. I've been rather occupied with much more entertaining things."

"Oh, right – so – not even once, then?" she asked properly baffled.

"Should I count every time I've pretended to be on one?"

"Sure?" she asked shocked.

"Then I have been in several," he said amused.

"Not as yourself I suppose."

"No."

"Oh," she said nodding looking as if she understood.

"What?"

"Well, that explains a lot, you know, not that I – I'm not saying – it just – well you seem to manage to overlook-," she said rather tense.

"Overlook?"

"I asked you out on a coffee, and you ended up with replying "milk and two sugars"," she said sharply.

"No, I knew," he smirked.

"Oh – ok," she said awkwardly shifting a bit in her seat.

* * *

Molly ate tentatively on her dinner, putting the wine aside, taking to drink enormous gulps of water, hurriedly trying to make the wine go less quickly into her head, but despite it all – she was as if caught under the truth-spell. Here she was pouring out full sentences to the man who she could barely say any sentence in front of before, but they had indeed been texting.

"Have I offended you?" he asked her, blue eyes sparkling, as his dark tousled hair fell into his face.

Candlelight was the only source of light in what remained to be seen as a very dark restaurant. She just shook her head, not knowing entirely what to say, or why she was sitting across from him.

He just kept looking at her, she felt her every movement being examined, and wondered if John was studied as such when he ate. She wondered if he got anything done, as she felt her nerves springing up, "You've got to stop doing that."

"Sorry?"

"The staring," said Molly trying to keep a low voice.

"I do not stare," he said seeming almost insulted, there he sat, eating in such a way to give her the understanding that his background was certainly not poor. Every single movement was like an intricate dance on his plate, even when he seemed to be locking eyes with her.

"Yes –  _yes_  – you do. What are you trying to deduce exactly?"

* * *

She was gazing him barefaced in the eye, waiting expectantly for the reply he didn't know if he could give. He put his knife and fork aside, taking a small sip from his water, before saying, "You liked me."

Her mouth opened at this, shutting hurriedly, before she attentively tore some bread into her mouth, "Yes – yes – I did – well – more than liked you."

"I was never nice to you," he pointed out.

She looked like she agreed, yet she said, "You were on occasion."

"No, not properly."

"That's just how you are," Molly said with a shrug.

"You accept that?"

"Well – we are friends, aren't we? We're having dinner, and a conversation and it's quite lovely. You're also not flashing a smile at me now too, so that's fine," she said with a grin.

"I'm sorry-," he said frowning.

"Oh – god – no – don't apologise- that was me entirely. You're quite fit," and with that her hand covered her mouth, "Sorry – not that I'm apologising for saying you are fit – which you are – I just, you know -god," she said horrified.

Sherlock gave a good laugh at her outburst.

"You're laughing at me," she said narrowing her eyes at him, before chortling. "Is this how you're around John, then?"

"What?" he said stopping up.

"Well, you're – not less rude – though more relaxed I've got to say," she said drinking much more wine.

"I'm different around John?"

"Oh yes, Mary and I had a very long chat about this actually. You two are quite something really. Everyone thought that you were-," she said making an amused face.

"I know," he said with a wide smirk. "It was quite entertaining to watch John skirmish. Every time anyone would mention it he'd go on a long outburst about how we aren't. In the end when he gave it up – it wasn't until then I ever troubled with replying."

"Yes, with  _no comment_ ," she said putting down her glass. "Mary's quite cross about that – people keep asking."

"People are stupid," he said rather indignantly.

She laughed, "Only you could say that so angrily."

"It is true."

"We're not all you."

"You're not an idiot-," he said looking bemused.

"Oh-," she said suddenly averting his eyes, until he continued.

"-entirely-," She shook her head at him, "- everyone is though. You're less than most."

"Thank you, I think - if that's a compliment from you."

"More than what John gets."

Molly seemed thoughtful all of a sudden, "So, what case brought you to the gay bar then?"

"Drugs," he said.

"Drugs? Not-," she said rather worried.

"No, just some illegal drugs being handled. You know -  _trivial work_  - to keep my mind agile," he said smoothly.

"Right – must have been lovely to deal with that case of the – Foster's, then?" she said with a slight shiver, as she'd read about the grotesque case in the papers.

"Oh yes, I suppose John updated his blog. He is rather quick about that these days," he said attending to his food again.

"He has to be - you're rather popular you know," said Molly taking to drink her wine now.

Sherlock looked at her with a grimace, "Yes, they do call me things in the papers, don't they?"

"I've saved several clippings actually," she said with a slight flush, becoming much more occupied with her hair.

"You have?"

"Yes, ridiculous ones - some of them for amusement sake really. They do call you a lot of things, with your sharp cheekbones," she said stopping her fidgeting entirely, as her eyes shined of delight.

He leaned back in his chair clearly amused, "Sharp cheekbones - really?"

"I did say it was ridiculous."

"You'll have to show me."

"I will."

"How about now?" he murmured.

* * *

She fidgeted with her keys, eyeing him as he stood with his hands behind his back looking at her innocently; it was a turn of events more or less. Here she was with Sherlock Holmes behind her, not in a huff for once, and not because she'd forgotten her keys. Opening up the door to her flat, she stepped aside, and he walked in judging the place, probably deducing every single bit and scrap of paper all over the place.

She flicked on the lights, and he soon slipped out of his coat. It was apparently a much longer stay than intended, she wondered idly, as she shut the doors. Not that she knew how interesting observing clippings of himself was fun this late. Then again she wasn't entirely surprised, he did like to talk about himself.

"So -," she started throwing her coat off, and wandering to her bookshelf pulling out a rather sizable book.

He eyed it curiously, "Isn't that Grey's anatomy?"

"Yes," she replied with a grin clutching the familiar book, which she hovered over many times in her youth.

"You've tucked gossip into the pages of Grey's anatomy?" he said looking at her in general disbelief.

She snorted, "Don't be upset."

"I'm not-," he said eyeing the worn book, looking if not rather smug.

She seated herself on the sofa, letting her hair fall loose from the ponytail, as she flipped through the pages "Buff boffin- there you are in a sheet – and here's the-," she said, stopping up, as he sat rather closely besides her.

She felt his breath on her neck, laughed, before looking up, and he was staring at her rather raptly, giving her the same once-over as the flat.

She quickly turned her attention to the pages, clearing her throat, and showing him some silly clippings. "Here's you and John when you returned. Quite a big event, more or less, as you can see the name- Zombie boffin. They really outdid themselves there-," she said grabbing after the piece, when his hand was clasped smoothly around her wrist.

Molly stared at this, breath held looking up at him in awe, "What – what are you doing?" He released her quickly, grasping for the article itself, a vague smile on his face, as he held it up, but proceeded to return it to the book.

"That's what I've got really, so-," she said standing up with the book in her arms, Sherlock stood up with her. She looked at him uneasily for a moment, still clutching the book firmly to her front, before she walked to the bookshelf returning the book to its spot. The moment she turned around, he was upon her, his arm on either side of her, leaning onto the bookcase, as she looked at him wide-eyed, and he returned a frustrated look.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" she said, in almost a whisper.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" he asked, his mouth quirking upwards, his eyes boring into hers, as she stood pressing herself against the bookcase.

"We've just had dinner," she said bewildered.

He smirked, one hand grazing her cheek, she stood gaping at him, as he trailed his fingers gently over her flushed face; his thumb brushing over her lips, his eyes following the course of his fingers movement.

Blue eyes lingered on her lips, but with a sudden intake of breath he said, "I should go. You have work in the morning, and I have things to do." He gave a quick smile, as she still stood by the bookshelf, with him eyeing her appraisingly.

"Right – err – good-," she started, but before she even finished the sentence he was gone with a swirl of his coat. She left the bookshelf exhaling, seating herself on the sofa, as Toby jumped on it mewing – when her phone went off.

_Goodnight Molly – SH_


	10. Chapter 10

John drank his coffee quietly, looking at his friend who was stretched out on the sofa palms pressed together and put under his chin, as he was in one of his lengthy thinking processes, but what about exactly? The man had returned the night before, in complete silence, spent hours fiddling with his violin, making general wretched mutterings under his breath, which sounded like "Fool," repeatedly over and over. He never got any reply on his texts, so he didn't know how it had gone, but Mary hadn't sent him any angry declarations so it had certainly not gone to the dogs.

"Stop it," barked Sherlock from the sofa, eyes directed towards John who was sitting in the middle of his thoughts.

"What?" said John in surprise.

"You're thinking it - I can hear your mind grinding over it. Why isn't Sherlock talking – why did Sherlock come home so late – did they have dinner – was it good. No, John," he snapped, sitting now in a fully upright position on the sofa, looking if not rather deranged there he sat rifling through his hair.

John grinned, "So - it wasn't good?"

Sherlock just gave a derisive snort, his phone soon in the palm of his hand, and his eyes fixed upon it with a maddened stare.

"She hasn't replied," he muttered clearly displeased.

John gawked at him, "She hasn't replied to your text. That's why you're like this, right – so it didn't go well?"

"If you mean ending up in her flat was bad," said Sherlock dropping the phone soundly on the coffee table in front of him, not considering the money the device cost.

"You - wait -  _what_?" said John who was practically beaming there he sat, his cup of coffee quickly put aside, as he gave a great laugh, "You were in her flat - then – right – what happened?"

Sherlock didn't reply, soon laying down back onto the sofa looking even more frustrated than he had been.

"Right – ok – fine, you don't want to talk about it. Fine – that's all right – I get it – you're inexperienced. There's nothing wrong with not knowing what to do."

"No, I'm not," spat Sherlock from the sofa, more like a child than anything there he laid.

"I wasn't talking about-," at this John gave a great clearing of his throat, obviously uncomfortable to breach the subject at hand, yet there was great amusement in his eyes, "That's rather – depending on it – I suppose – that's well – I don't know your history, if there's any-," blurted John.

Sherlock sat upright again, pointedly glaring at his friend, "I have had my share of experiments," he said.

"Experiments? That's the phrase you're going for here –  _experiments_? Right, well – what was the problem, then?"

Sherlock gestured silently with his hands, waving them about a bit wildly, as if he was grabbing for words, "I – yes," he said out of the blue, with John gaping at him.

"Say that again?"

"I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"Oh – oh – right, well, that's – you could work through that you know-," said John uneasily.

Sherlock looked at his friend disgusted, "No, John – no – that's not what I mean."

"Well, what the bloody hell do you mean, then? Since it'll be much easier if you just came out with it. We're grown men, we live together, and we can have a discussion about this – even if it's-," stopped John grimacing a bit.

"Give me blood - give me murder - John – even your idiotic blog. Even Anderson for a cup of tea - chatting about something as mind numbingly dull as the weather - but I do not want to have a conference about my feelings-," snarled Sherlock.

"You admit it, then – you _do_  fancy her."

Sherlock glared as John grinned.

"Right, then - this is good. You're admitting it now, right? We don't need to beat around the bush about it anymore – it's out there – text her - ask her for dinner – it's that simple."

"We've had dinner," said Sherlock.

"Wait – what?" said John remembering quite easily Irene Adler and her infamous way of asking for things.

"Leave the woman out of this John. The woman is not near this subject whatsoever," said Sherlock waving his hand annoyed.

"Right, you mean – food – you ate - and it was nice."

"It was much more than I expected - yes."

"It was pleasant, right - got it-," said John with his lips pursed.

"I suggested we go to her flat."

"You suggested? That's quite upfront-," said John gobsmacked.

Sherlock gave him a look.

"Sorry, just - I'm surprised that's all, you know – it's you – you're quite – OK, I'll shut up."

"She was having a reaction to me certainly. Very pronounced as it were - her pulse - and everything. However-," said Sherlock.

"Oh – here it comes-," interrupted John.

Sherlock frowned, "I couldn't," he said sheepishly giving to lying back down again, narrowing his eyes at the phone on the table, which did not give any life signs whatsoever.

John stared at his friend, "Sherlock – I am surprised to inform you that this emotion, which you are having is – I think you might be a bit familiar with it – even if you are so - it's guilt, Sherlock. You're guilty."

"Guilty?" repeated Sherlock grimacing.

"Of course you're bloody guilty, you've been flirting with her for ages as another man – tell her the truth, and you might actually feel properly -  _peckish_."

Sherlock groaned, "No, John – as usual you are quite off the mark," and now he sat himself confidently up in the sofa.

John looked at him aggravated, taking a sip of his coffee waiting for his friend's tirade.

"Confusion, John - that was her face. I might have broken off her previous relationship, but that clearly unintentional, as she now seems rather angry with her last consort. You are not wrong about the guilt, but I was not guilty –  _she was_ ," and with certain strides, he went into his bedroom, soon brandishing the nokia in his palm, taking to wield it once against.

"If she answers this – she still has feelings for Ben-," he said starting to type on the keyboard.

"Or she could just be Molly who's being nice and answering a text? Asking her about what she feels might be a better idea, perhaps even actually telling her your feelings – even how confusing they are to –  _well_  – both of us," said John with knitted brows.

Sherlock was in a completely different mind-set already, giving to smirking pleasantly at the phone, as he sent off the text.

_I am sorry for disappearing off. I met Emily in London with a new boyfriend. It threw me into a loop. I am so sorry. I hope we can still have contact? - B_

"You never seem to listen to me, I might as well be talking to air here," mumbled John, as Sherlock looked up at him in surprise.

"What?"

John took to drinking his coffee.

* * *

Three hours had gone, there was no reply on either phone, despite his own phone being rather quiet Sherlock was decidedly pleased and if not rather smug. He'd been sitting with a self-satisfied look on his face, while John tried to read his book – a book that Sherlock had already spoilt of course, by blatantly pointing out the murderer by a quick reading of the storyline, but John was determined nonetheless.

It was better than having half-conversations about a subject that Sherlock clearly didn't want to admit his weakness in. John was of course baffled that it indeed ended up being the besotted pathologist of Bart's of all people who ensnared his friend.

"She's certainly not keen on Ben, then," John said with a sigh.

"Obviously," said Sherlock, as John pressed his mouth together avoiding looking at his friend who was now striding around the living room.

It was then amidst Sherlock's triumph that the nokia vibrated on the table. John looked up, and Sherlock stopped abruptly, utter bewilderment on his face, as he soon picked up the phone with bated breath. John forgot his book, as he eyed his friend's face –

It's all right, have been bothered with Peter myself. I'm going to meet him for lunch today actually. Don't know how that'll turn out though – M

His face was unreadable, but within minutes Sherlock was dressed – coat and scarf slipped on. "John, we have a case."

John kept his eyes on the pages of his book, "No, we don't."

"John," said Sherlock in a more agreeable tone.

"I'm not going to be dragged into your insanity. If you're going to see Molly, you should go alone, not try to use anyone as an excuse."

"Fine," snapped Sherlock slamming the doors of Baker Street as he departed.

* * *

Lestrade was staggered to find how overly helpful Sherlock was being with a simple case. Well, in his books that was – a domestic, but he was personally grateful, because he'd be finished with the case at a quicker rate at least. They entered the morgue at Bart's where Molly was already working with the corpse at hand, who she was sewing up, but she didn't look up at the pair of them. Sherlock had been adamant that he needed to see the victim properly.

"Hello," said Lestrade cheerily, "That's Andrew Jackson, right?"

Molly looked up greeting him with a soft smile, her eyes soon darting to Sherlock who was walking slowly behind him, but they landed quite quickly on the body.

"Yes, that's him. Internal haemorrhaging, obviously it was quite a fall," she said sewing at quite a rapid pace on the man's chest, seeming if not a bit furious. "I didn't know you took these easy cases."

Lestrade peered at Sherlock curiously; as he knew it wasn't him that question was put upon.

"I thought I would be helpful," Sherlock said eyebrows drawn in, as he took in her appearance.

"Did you now?" she repeated with a frown, snapping off her gloves, before taking to bring up the paperwork. "He's 27 years old, non-smoker, and seems to have been pushed by his brother down some steps. Quarrelling over a woman, I heard, that's – err - symbolic."

Molly looked at the two men rather angrily for a moment, before taking a breath, "Sorry – I just – it's been a hard day. Loads to think about just," she said shaking her head apologetically, grinning self-consciously at the two men.

Sherlock could see that she was certainly dressed up, but not in an overstated way mirroring her style at Christmas. No, it was purely simple and elegant. Sufficient enough for her shape, and pleasant enough to keep his eyes flickering over to her legs with a pair of ballerina flats. His eyes darted up to her tired looking face; apparently she wasn't excited for her rendezvous with Peter. It was then he was aware that both Molly and Lestrade were looking at him strangely.

"Sherlock?" said Lestrade slightly astonished, "Err – that's it, then – his brother is the man?"

Sherlock looked away from Molly, seeming to fix his eye on something on the ceiling, "Obviously, simple deduction. Two brothers living in close quarters. One has a girlfriend, the other not, and then the girlfriend convinces the other brother to kill his brother for money. In other words frightfully dull. I could of course go in length over the details, but some simple texting between the brother and the girlfriend is enough evidence I suppose."

Lestrade stared at him blankly for a moment, returning his gaze to Molly who was now wheeling the corpse inside one of the body lockers, "Right – I'll call it in then," he said uneasily, before leaving the pair.

Sherlock's eyes returned to Molly, who in turn seemed to be thinking through something. He saw a slight stain on her shoe; she'd been drinking coffee with someone earlier. Her makeup had been added after she'd come to work, so she was doing it specifically to impress, and the way she now looked at him said that she was more confused than ever.

"Sherlock – what exactly are you here for?" she asked.

"Lunch?" he enquired.

"Sorry - Peter is taking me for lunch," she said if not rather touchily, "But you probably already knew that, didn't you? Which is why you asked in the first place," she said clinging to her papers, before walking out of the morgue.

"Yes, Peter – how is that working out for you? I thought you didn't want contact with him," said Sherlock trailing behind her.

"It's just lunch Sherlock, as that was only dinner," said Molly.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked, at this she wheeled around at him.

"Of course not – err – why would I be mad about you racing out of my flat in the middle of the night? Now that would just be silly," she said with a small nod, before disappearing off leaving him perplexed in the hallway.

* * *

Molly sat with him, her hands folded on the table, as she tried to concentrate on what he was saying; yet her attention kept slipping. At least he was forming coherent and full sentences for once, and not half-arsed attempts in the middle of the night. This wasn't just one of the -  _I'll text her when I'm drunk situations_  - luckily, despite the fact that she felt less inclined to stay every second he opened his gob. Everything about him had turned so abysmally dull and beige, but all she had to do was persevere.

Her mobile phone went off of course, as Peter went on a long outburst trying in his own words to recount their entire relationship and the pitfalls they'd made. Molly just gave him a nod, as her hand gently nudged on her phone, so she could see the text -

_I thought you said he was dark - SH_

Molly snorted causing Peter to abruptly stop talking, "Molly – are you listening to me?"

Her eyes widened, "Yes – oh – of course Peter, I am absolutely listening to what you've got to say," she said with a sweetened smile.

"Who's that texting you, then?" he asked calmly with his brown eyes narrowed.

"Ben," said Molly hurriedly.

"Ben?" he probed.

"Yes, Ben – he's – err – a friend, just," she smiled scrutinizing the phone as another text reeled in.

_He and Anderson would make wonderful friends - SH_

"Oh – right – were you really on a dinner with Sherlock Holmes last night then?" he asked clearly baffled over the sheer idea.

Molly took a sip of her white wine, "I was - actually," she said putting the glass down on the table, her eyes going to her phone.

_You seem bored - SH_

Her head swirled around in the restaurant, trying to catch a slight glimpse of the man, but wherever he was – she couldn't spot him for her life.

"It was friendly?" asked Peter who moped at her behaviour.

"Yes, Peter it was unquestionably friendly," said Molly reassuringly. "How's Jane, then –  _she_  good?" Jane was the woman who Peter had been indelicate with, terminating their relationship fully.

Peter looked agitated at this question, while Molly just gingerly ate on her salad seeing the desired effect on his face.

* * *

They left the restaurant with Molly more or less nodding, as Peter kept speaking, while she stared the streets down for a taxi, "I just think that we should have a proper conversation about this, you know," he said standing at her side uncomfortably.

"I don't know if there's anything left to be said, Peter – really," said Molly doubtfully, as a taxi came to halt.

"Will you agree to have dinner with me? Tomorrow night, I promise I'll try to be – less – just, Molly please?" he pleaded.

She gave a sigh at this, "Ok," and soon enough he gave her an awkward hug, which she did not return, before she got into the taxi without missing a beat slamming the door behind her.

Peter leaned down to the window grinning at her, but suddenly his eyes widened staring at her horrified. Molly looked at him curiously; it was then a voice calmly said, "Drive," from the seat besides her.

The taxi went off, and Molly gaped at Sherlock who looked at her with an entertained expression, "Peter was hoping he'd be bringing you home. However, I think Jane wouldn't be so pleased with this interaction, as he took to phone her when you went to the ladies," he said effortlessly in the car seat.

"What?" she squeaked in surprise, looking at him, then the driver who seemed to be chortling at the exchange.

Molly shut her mouth, trying to collect herself, as she sat clasping on her bag – her heart drumming in her ears.

"I suggest you refrain from dating him entirely," Sherlock added in her silence.

"I'm sorry – I," she said quickly, turning her head towards the window buildings whizzing past as they drove.

"It would be rather beneficial if you were not to date anyone in fact," Sherlock said pointedly, with a smile.

"Oh," she said, "Right –  _right_  – what's going on then?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, neither were his eyes on her, as the taxi took to stop, and he gave the driver quietly some money, before exiting the car. Molly followed suit, clumsily shifting out of her seat, finding that the door was swiftly opened for her.

He softly took her hand, steadying her out of the car, his other hand placed on the back of her coat, as she half-gaped at him, promptly shutting her mouth when he released her. They were standing in front of a rather posh restaurant, "You weren't eating properly - I suppose you must be somewhat hungry."

"I – I – right, yes – wait – what is this?"

"Dinner," he replied smoothly going ahead of her holding up the door in a gentleman-like manner.

"I'm not hungry," she retorted, "Besides, this is probably a bit too early to eat dinner anyways?"

"Well, we can't all be up to indecent hours every night can we Molly? It would make things a bit tiring in the length of the day. I must say you are a bit more rattled, than yesterday," he said letting go of the door taking to stand in front of her.

"Ben finally texted," she spluttered, looking if not a little bit lost now, her eyes cast downwards. "Now I've just had dinner with Peter of all people, Peter who I do not at all want to see, and now I just – I just want to go home."

Sherlock who's mood had been calm, looked if not absolutely indecipherable there he stood, soon ushering another taxi wordlessly besides Molly who gloomily got in, but he did not let her leave without him.

"What did he say?" he said, as he took his seat besides her.

"He wants to keep contact," she said with a sigh, looking out of the window of the taxi. "I don't know, I - most – it's a bit – I haven't heard from him in days."

He just gave a brief nod; "You want to keep contact with him, then?"

"Yes, I suppose I do – Sherlock – what's wrong with him?" asked Molly looking at Sherlock properly now.

"You have wine?" he asked avoiding her gaze.

"Always," she said with a saddened smile.

* * *

Molly was sniffling an appropriate amount, soon pouring wine into a glass, questioningly holding the bottle over another empty wine glass.

"I don't derive pleasure from it," Sherlock said, "My mind becomes cluttered."

"I think your mind could handle a bit of a beating, though what do you  _derive pleasure_  from, then?" she quipped glass in her hand, which she quickly drank filling another glass rapidly. "I can't be the only one drinking wine, though," she said handing him a glass.

Sherlock stood in the middle of her living room, not sitting, and especially not being in close proximity of her. He held the wine glass in his hand, not tasting it, but humouring her, "Molly – there's something you need to know about Ben."

"Could you sit? You're making me nervous," she said biting her lip, and so he sat down on the sofa.

She soon settled down besides him, throwing off her shoes, as she sat more comfortably, her one arm leaning on the back of the sofa. "Could we not talk about it yet? Since you've managed to not to tell me what's wrong with him – up to this point," she said with a giggle.

He didn't say anything, taking a sip from his wine, this time, as she kept looking at him. "It was a bit of a odd moment last night, wouldn't you say?"

She was touching her hair, her cheeks were flushed, and she did not take her eyes off him whatsoever. He just examined her from the side, not turning his body towards her, as _her_  body was directed towards him. Sherlock took to sniff the wine for a moment, trying to understand her behaviour. Her clothes said nothing different, yet her smile did not belong a conflicted woman.

"I wouldn't call it strange," he murmured, finally turning around to face her.

"What would you call it? Don't say fascinating," she said taking to drink her wine, but he could see that she was concealing a smile with this.

"What do you know?" he asked.

"What don't I know?" she said baffled in return.

They looked at each other for a minute, in complete silence. Her dress had hitched up, because of her position in the sofa, showing much more thigh than needed, he felt it almost necessary to pull it down, but he did not move his hand.

His eyes had already given away his focus, for soon he found she was only some inches away from his face, her breath smelled of sweet wine, and her eyes darted down to his lips.

He took to stare at her lips in turn, wanting to trace her bottom lip - "Ben isn't real," he said breaking the spell.

Molly blinked several times, looking the very imagery of confusion, as she opened her mouth and closed it again – taking to lean entirely back in the sofa away from him.

He quickly stood up putting the glass of wine on her coffee table, "You weren't co-operating nicely - I needed my lab - my time to work, and you were being a nuisance. I thought it would be a perfect plan to create a man - a man to help you feel better, and improved you did indeed. The man you met, his name is James, and he is an actor, who I knew wouldn't take advantage due to his background. It was quite easy really - though we did almost have some mishaps. Now you are fine, even very close to a full-recovery I'd say – Peter is back in your life, and will drop this Jane in a heartbeat if you want to," he said very fast, his eyes fixed on hers soon bringing out the nokia, which he then gave to her.

Molly took the phone in her hand, staring at the various text blankly, "You – you texted me?" she stammered.

"Yes, every word was written by me. I was a bit bored at times - I have to say," he said with a quick smile.

"You're - Ben?" she said not looking at him.

He took to put on his coat now, putting on his scarf, as Molly was still seated. "John was right, I do feel better," he remarked.

"John knew?" said Molly looking properly dismayed now.

"I'll let my self out, shall I?" he said raising his brows at her befuddled state. He had his hand on the doorknob, when he felt her hand on his shoulder, except he did not turn around. She did not say anything yet, her hand softly placed on his shoulder, and for a moment he shut his eyes marvelling over the feeling.

"That's your way of apologising, then?" she said with an edge to her voice causing his eyes to open.

"I was just trying to help," he said quietly.

Her hand dropped from his shoulder, "Get out," she returned. Sherlock didn't turn around, but he could imagine her face with the silent hot tears trailing down her cheeks. He left without another word.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

_Goodnight Molly – SH_

Molly stroked Toby's fur longer than necessary with her brows furrowed, as she looked into the direction of the kitchen cupboards. She was contemplating fetching a bottle of wine to sedate her flustered skin. However knowing that it would probably worsen the case she remained seated giving a sigh, as she stared at the phone in the palm of her hand, before settling it on the table before her.

They'd had a moment, surely, and she couldn't deny it. Neither could she pretend the way they had been during dinner didn't mean a thing.

 _Dinner_  – obviously meant something, much more deeper, than she knew. Or could it become a significant sequel of the mere accident in the dreaded dark hallways of Heaven? She had kissed a man who certainly was no angel. He was who he was, and she was who she was, and if it were to indeed be that in question - "Yes," said Molly with a giggle clapping her hand over her mouth disgruntled over her sheer stupidity.

Was he indeed interested? The idea puzzled her, following her all the way into bed, even how many time she twisted and turned on their conversation in her head, it came with the same undeniable result. Here was a man who'd barely given her a proper look, and he was openly staring at her. Not to charm her, and from where she was standing – none of those smiles given to her were false. It was a peculiar situation, and she mulled it properly over only managing to direct her mind into the most vivid re-imaginings of what had occurred when he'd hovered over her, blue eyes gleaming – staring intently on her mouth. Her imagination played the scenario quite longer with him pushing her onto the bookshelf and having his way with her. This however was brushed quickly aside, as she remembered  _Ben_.

Wasn't she interested in Ben?

Ben who lived in Cardiff not London, and who hadn't answered her text in days – was he really more than just a promising idea? They had met twice, which gave no grounds of her properly knowing him. He was also so contrastingly different at times that it amazed her, for one he'd be cheery and the other he'd be quite dark. That had been on their first meeting and on the second time the impression of him being remotely close to this hauntingly sexy man she imagined vanished. Gone was the dark man, she fantasised about, who'd preferably ravish her, and instead it was replaced with just a good friend. If any man were to fit the mental imagery she had, it was certainly not Ben Smith, even if he looked the part. She knew quite easily who had that entitlement.

* * *

Her eyes opened wide of the sound of her mobile phone vibrating. Was it him? Had he decided to text her, since she gave no reply? Not that there was anything to reply to, but it was something charming with the idea that he of all men could be remotely _desperate_. She picked up the phone from the nightstand, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, as she read -

_I am sorry for disappearing off. I met Emily in London with a new boyfriend. It threw me into a loop. I am so sorry. I hope we can still have contact? - B_

She sat bolt upright in her bed gaping at the text. Of course, the one second she hoped for one man to text her – she received the other man's message. Wasn't it always this way? She groaned, clinging to the phone, trying to understand what he'd written. His girlfriend had obviously put him in a low place, and her heart reached out to him, until she incidentally saw the time. There it was, and she was late. She was always punctuality itself, so with hurried anxiety she sprang out of bed picking a pretty dress, despite knowing how extremely unsuited that was for work-related business. This day might turn entirely different then what she supposed it would. It was when she'd finally gotten out of the door, everything sorted, though stomach empty that her mind reeled over the endless answers she could give the man. What could she say?

I'm so sorry about that. We can be friends. I see no problem with that – M

No - she deleted that, as she rushed into a taxi. She needed her special cuppa today, ensuring that she'd manage to tackle the various tasks of texting as it were. The café was a little out of her way, of course, but what could she do? She of all people needed the immaculate piece of auburn deliciousness created by the charming George, especially today. With her phone in her hand, she skipped inside, giving a little wave of a greeting to George who immediately started making her cup at the sight of her, as he spotted her general jittery behaviour, "I'll be quick about it, love – it's good to know you're here just for coffee," he said chuckling with his back to her behind the counter.

"How's that?" she asked eyeing the half-empty café with a bit of a grin.

George turned round wagging his grey brows towards the table in the right corner. On it was what seemed to be a mixture of limbs and lips - apparently two very enthusiastic men for eight in the morning. She turned a bit red, only to have her smile drop all of a sudden, when the overwhelming sense of familiarity sprang over her. Molly turned around again, properly taking them in, as the two men had now separated – one fair headed, while the other with his dark curls and blue eyes clearly resembled –

"BEN," she half shrieked causing  _Ben Smith_ to sharply turn his head into her general direction horrified. He gaped at her, as she did him, before she hurriedly jumped on the spot, "The coffee – are you - are you – done?"

George looked at her baffled, promptly handing her the cup, as Molly took to run for it, reverting quickly to hurried steps, so as to not seem mad there she half-sprinted along the pavement managing to step on several people's toe's. He was panting behind her, but his long legs caused him to gain on her.

"Molly," he cried after her. "Molly – please – wait!"

She took to halt wheeling around to face man who was surely  _Ben Smith_  – in London, judging by the deep grooves under his eyes and unkempt hair he'd been up all night. His torn jeans and tight fitting t-shirt did not scream a banker either. He was definitively not in Cardiff, not a banker and by all accounts - "You're gay," she said pointing at him if not rather accusingly, soon bringing her shaky hand down, as people stared. She made an apologetic awkward expression, while still trying to look mad.

James had his hands in his pockets, gave a bit of a shrug, "You're quite right – I am, but technically I'm not – err – could I explain to you properly – over a cup of coffee?" He stared at her Styrofoam cup sheepishly.

"Properly? I think your tongue down that man's throat explains it, especially the fact that you're more than averagely here," she said starting to walk again, "I'm late for work – I can't – I've got to go."

"Molly – no – you've got to let me explain – I'm – I'm not Ben Smith," he said speeding up aside of her.

She finally stopped taking to glower at him mildly disgusted over the blatant lie.

"I'm sorry? You're not Ben Smith, now then? Are you his other  _twin_  then? Will he be texting me any time soon – right?  _Right_ ," said Molly scathingly.

Molly was about to run off again, when James grabbed hold of her bag.

"Let go off my bag – or I'm crying for help," she snapped trying to pull it towards her, causing people to look at them.

James released her bag, putting his hands up guiltily.

"I'm not Ben Smith – Ben Smith isn't real – I'm James Black – an actor-," he blurted out.

"An actor – is this some sort of joke to you? Do you do this, then? Pretend to be straight for practise?" she said, her cheeks inflamed, as she scowled at him.

"No, Sherlock Holmes hired me," he said bluntly, causing Molly to spill some coffee on her shoe.

She yelped frowning at her flats, as he started to gesture to the café. "Just come with me – to the coffee shop, and I'll explain properly. Sorry about this, really, I am. But - I shouldn't even be the one telling you – he should – but he's a bit of a bastard really."

She hesitated blinking at him furiously, before reluctantly following him back, taking time to text Mary to hold up the fort at Bart's.

* * *

Molly looked at Ben – no – James in utter disbelief for the good 10 minutes he went on hurriedly explaining, clarifying a great deal of things, clarifying the vast similarity, and also making her want to wring Sherlock Holmes' neck.

"You're saying - you're actually saying that – that – he did all of these things, because he likes me – right?"

"Yes, I know it seems absolutely mad, but he does," he said with a bit of a grin.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me?"

"You know him. He's some mad genius, right? Every single little thing he does has some great scheme, and he's more or less plotted himself in a corner, where you'll end up hating him. I do think he's fancied you for a while - he kissed you back – no man kisses someone like that back."

"Wait – you saw that?" she said blushing despite herself. "So it was you I saw at Heaven."

"Yes – which should have been a clue in the first place. He picked me who lives in London - that's quite impractical - it was as if he wanted to be found, or so I think," said James nodding.

"Right -  _right_."

"You are going to tell him that you know?"

"Of course I am - I can only imagine his face when he finds out – I'd never miss that for the world," she said with a hollow laugh.

It wasn't before James had apologised to her profusely several times, that he let her go, and she could properly think. Besides furious she didn't know what she thought.

She was in a daze when she came to work causing Mary to ask, "What's wrong with you? Is it Sherlock  _or_  Ben  _or_  Peter? You've got many men in your life at mo, I've got to say – it's rather brilliant," she said jabbing her with a pen in her waist.

Molly snapped out of her stupor, "Sherlock is Ben," she said in an eerie voice, causing Mary to stop poking her.

Her friend was furious, eyes glaring as she went off in a massive rant about how blatantly obvious it was, and how ridiculous it was for Sherlock to be at a gay bar – "What an idiot – god – I can't believe the nerve of that man – toying with you like that-," she said in Molly's office, walking angrily around.

"According to James he fancies me-," said Molly with a small voice, her hands in her lap, as she tried to puzzle it all together. There were only two men chasing after her, and in retrospect – both idiots. "- Not that it helps much, either."

"Oh, Molly – _I_  could tell you that. He spent the majority of dinner giving you big eyes," said Mary with her hands on her hips.

"Yes – that I noticed. He's been doing that a while, I thought it was his regular – I'm trying to work my way in again, since I threw him out a while back."

"I can't believe he did this, just because you weren't willing to  _co-operate_."

"He's very fond of his routines, despite the fact that he's one of the most impulsive people I know of," said Molly with a sigh.

"I suggest makeup-," said Mary who stopped at Molly's desk now properly eyeing her friend's barefaced look.

"Sorry?"

"So he'll feel even worse when you finally tell him, right - since you are telling him?"

"Yes, of course I'm telling him. Knowing him he'll probably know it just by looking at me," said Molly disgruntled. "Oh – God – Mary – my love life is a mess."

"Yes, but your wardrobe isn't apparently – why are you so dressed up, then?" asked her friend eyeing her dress.

Molly made a face, "I – I dressed up, because I thought the day would turn out a bit differently. I didn't expect my one supposed flirt to be an actual actor when I woke up - employed by Sherlock. The worst part was that he was so terribly nice, if he'd been an arse – I could have brushed him off."

"That differently being –  _possibly_ the man who's turned you into a miserable mess, then?" said Mary with a wink.

"No – of course not – I – I – yes - yes, I did – a very little – perhaps a bit much actually."

"It's just, I know Molly – he sent you texts, and was entirely – nice – at dinner, oddly enough, but I can't see him properly acting up on it," said Mary biting her lip.

"We had dinner last night, actually," said Molly carefully.

"You did? What on earth happened –  _how_  did it happen?"

Molly laughed, "He asked me - just when I was about to call it a day, and we went to an Indian restaurant. After that – we – err – we went to my place, so I could show him my newspaper clippings."

Mary narrowed her eyes at her friend, "Is that innuendo? Newspaper clippings - is that something I've missed out on then?"

"No –  _no_  – nothing – nothing really happened. Well, he was very – err – close, you know, but like – we – he touched my – oh – that does sounds a bit bad – we just – he left, more or less."

"It does sound bad," said Mary with a nod.

"I just thought this would play out differently-," said Molly rather sadly.

"So did I," said Mary with a groan, "Now I've got to yell at John."

"James said he wasn't actually involved."

"He wasn't? I'm surprised – John's always involved in all of Sherlock's ideas, but I suppose he knew that John would be good enough to tell me," said Mary with a smile, before looking at her watch, "I've got to go though. You'll be fine, then, right?"

"Yes, I'll be OK. I'll work – it'll be fine."

"You're going to tell him when he shows up?"

" _If_  he shows up," said Molly pointedly.

The moment Mary left her office; she put her mobile phone in the palm of her hand properly staring at it, before a slight devious smile crept onto her face -

It's all right, have been bothered with Peter myself. I'm going to meet him for lunch today actually. Don't know how that'll turn out though – M

* * *

Molly slammed the door behind her, pressing herself up against it, causing Mary to eye her confused, "You told him?" she asked, assuming that her friend's general behaviour was easily explained with a rash argument.

However the Molly she saw seating herself in the chair in front of the desk, taking to twirl one round with the swivel chair – was definitively not a gloomy female. "You didn't tell him?"

Molly stopped turning, finally stopping up, as she had a great beam on her face, "No," she quipped easily.

"Molly – why exactly didn't you do that?" said Mary ignoring the paper work before her.

At this Molly gave a breath, took to cross her legs, and said, "Right, I thought I was being obvious, really. I was mad, and in the end – when he stood there in front of me, I realised – he's not at all getting this. He'd taken to stare at me, but not one single thing gave away that I'd had a proper chat with James. Not even the fact that I was obviously cross."

"Well, he does make a lot of people angry on a regular basis, I suppose that sort of thing just reels off him easily, so – you're not telling him because he doesn't know – yes - explain?"

"I'm not telling him - because I want to have a little fun on my own," said Molly ending up with giggling furiously, as Mary looked at her with the same avid glee.

"You're serious – you're going to-,"

"Mess with his head a little, or possibly a lot. The fact that he's been trying to  _sort me out_  - as James so nicely put it – I feel that it's my duty, to well – do the same," said Molly taking to grin wickedly before showing the text she had sent to  _Ben_. Mary sat gaping at the text, before looking up at her friend.

"You're having lunch with Peter – that's genius – oh – I must say I like you when you're all  _vengeful_."

"It depends if he actually does indeed – properly – maybe - fancy me, that is. He might not, you know, this might just be some – err – thing to him. Luckily Peter isn't really hard to get a hold of these days," said Molly when Mary gave her the phone back.

"Yes, dinner and texts – well, if it comforts you – at least he's answered your texts - or texted you at all," said Mary reassuringly.

"Why do you say that?"

"John mentioned this woman – Irene Adler, who texted Sherlock frequently. He never really answered her questions about  _dinner."_

Molly blinked at that, "Dinner?"

"Oh yes, subtext for sex! I'm surprised people aren't just asking for it these days. That's what I did with John, really," said Mary with a barely concealed grin, as Molly looked pensive.

* * *

Mary had suggested her being  _hot and cold_  – but he still managed to surprise her when he suddenly showed up as he did. The man had been keeping an eye on her. She should have been put off by it, but it was sort of appealing in a strange way.

It was when he suggested dinner however, that she felt the need to mention Ben and feign proper confusion. The man ate it up, soon looking sombre when they arrived at her flat, and when she almost got a bit ahead of herself – he delivered his very well calculated speech about her being a nuisance. The words hurt, they did indeed, and she was happy that James had delivered them to her first – in a much nicer way. Her need to pour out her knowledge fell flatly to the floor, as she thought out something much more sillier. It wouldn't be long before he knew, of course, as he was bound to get a hold of James, but she would do her best to confuse him. After all - he did indeed deserve it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry, took me ages this did - finally coming out with something I'm personally pleased with. I am my worst critique, which is why I take ages really. I didn't intend it to be this long however, I can blame it on my choice of literature on the side properly confusing me. I hope you enjoy this chapter, if you do - you know what to do. I'll try to be quick about the next one. Luckily words won't fail me as much really.

It had been one of those better nights, without any interruption, not a dinner for once, not at her mothers, or with a colleague present – and which also didn't end with him being texted by Sherlock - causing him to half-run out of the door. Things were shaping up nicely too, a bag of crisps on the table, a rubbish action movie on the telly, and Mary snuggling up to him. He was on sparkling form more or less; horribly satisfied with the situation he was placed in, until Mary's phone went off. In her field of work it wasn't unusual actually, pretty common, and she grabbed for it in wonder. She soon stood up, the name "Molly," being uttered heartily from her lips, an excitement in her tone, as she grabbed for a crisp sprinting off to the next room. John looked after her content, when he suddenly froze in his seat – who had he sent off on his own to fend for himself at Bart's? Maybe Sherlock hadn't done anything reckless – he'd give him a warning at least – wouldn't he?

Mary's voice being audible through the door was reply enough, despite already knowing the answer. John immediately shut off the telly, as his girlfriend soon returned with a crease between her brows and a general look of disbelief in her face. Here he was, eyes flickering disconcerted around in the living room of his girlfriend – nowhere to hide and especially no Sherlock to blame.

Unsurprisingly he found himself in a less than pleased demeanour walking up the steps in Baker Street after what had been a fairly one-sided argument. He agreed with her, he'd been a complete arse, in more ways than one, and trying to suggest that Sherlock had feelings for Molly made things worse. In the end Mary concluded that he'd have to keep  _the consulting idiot_  from ever entering Bart's "Or so help me I will have you both for lunch." He didn't want to quarrel with her, and was now pursing his lips at the sight of his friend seated apparently deep in thought.

Sherlock was sitting with his hands pressed together, a pensive furrow in his brows, not taking to look up as John grudgingly dragged off his jacket in a rather furious manner than intended.

"Warning? Possibly, that would have been good – oh – John, just so you know I've told Molly that you were involved – it's not much – a text would do. I know how handy you are with those – that and real thrashing deliveries – Mary really used the word  _nuisance_  - a lot," said John, but his short rant served him no reaction from his friend. He quietly sat down, trying to remain calm, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" started his friend looking up at him bewildered. "Oh – John – of course – yes, I told Mary," he said, before disappearing into wherever his mind was.

"Right," said John with a sigh, taking to rub his face, as he leaned back into his chair. "So - when I thought you'd reveal to Molly that you were Ben – you could probably have done it _without_  the speech. Maybe even added a bit of humanity to it - since none of what Mary said sounded any good."

Sherlock didn't answer, merrily kept silent, before he looked up, "Timing John –  _timing_  – this was not the opportune moment."

When John had gotten to the flat, he hadn't visualized a man who'd be ready to go the next step, to admit that he was indeed pursuing Molly Hooper, but here Sherlock was inclined in his chair confidently – instead of skulking in his robe playing sad melodies long into the dawn, "The opportune moment?" asked John nosily.

"Too early John –  _well_  – might not be early, as you're here – I suppose Mary threw you out, then?"

John grimaced as an answer.

"I would have thought Molly would keep this one to her chest. She didn't feel inclined to reveal that we had shared a kiss, it seems to be - a bit peculiar."

"That's _strange_? You've hurt her - of course she phoned Mary – most people like to talk about their feelings, you know," snorted John.

"Feelings perhaps, but Molly likes to keep things close to her chest. She might be blunt on her delivery, but she seems to keep various incidents out of circulation from the general public – until prodded properly."

John blinked at this, taking to shake his head, "OK, so – when's this opportune moment, then?"

"Tomorrow," said Sherlock, as if this was obvious.

"You're not even going to give her a week?"

"Prolonging it John – wouldn't make it an appropriate moment – that would just be thoughtless."

"No – you're waiting Sherlock - I promised Mary you wouldn't be stepping into Bart's – give it a week – your  _opportune_  moment will probably be present then too."

"Are you going to stop me?" scoffed Sherlock, clearly amused by this idea.

John gritted his teeth, thinking it properly over, "No, I'm coming with you this time," he said with a grim smile.

"I don't need a caretaker."

"Well, it seems that you might just need one, really – considering - how this evening turned out."

"Molly's obviously already healing."

"I'm going with you tomorrow – that's it – no discussion," said John without waiting for Sherlock's answer, he walked off upstairs to bed.

* * *

He should have understood that when he woke up, and Sherlock was in a wonderfully cheery mood it was something to worry about. John should have followed his instincts, but they ate breakfast – everything went fine, until they were leaving for Bart's of course.

Sherlock went ahead for the taxi, as John grabbed for his jacket reluctantly albeit. He didn't really want to be the guardian in this case, as it didn't really suit him to force himself to overhear a conversation, which could turn unpleasant for him (besides maybe amusing). The moment he went outside, with the taxi waiting, and Sherlock stood slowly pulling on his gloves - holding the door open while looking at him expectantly- it should have been the clue.

He however didn't really think much of it, climbing into the taxi, finding the door being shut by Sherlock – and then the taxi drove off without him. It took a moment before John properly collected himself, being slightly too groggy, as the driver soon spoke to him.

"I heard you had a row with your girlfriend – your mates pretty understanding, I've got to say – so I'm sorry – what plans you'd thought you had – we're going to your girl Mary's flat," he said chuckling, his white moustache flapping over his lip.

"I'll pay you twice as much," said John catching the driver's interest, "If you take me to Bart's."

"Have you got that kind of money?" said the driver curiously, as John with a cheeky grin tried to bring forward his wallet – only to find it missing from his pocket.

"Sorry mate – sorting everything out with your girlfriend would be a better idea anyway."

"She's at Bart's," said John pointedly.

The driver just shook his head, "Your mate said you'd say that – he's a bright one that Sherlock Holmes, really. No surprise, I do love that blog of yours."

"Thanks," said John quickly adding, "John Watson – well, you already know that – what's yours?"

* * *

He was there, finally in place, back straight leaning over the microscope, blue eyes flickering over to the door, as he waited patiently for her to enter. She'd gone for some coffee apparently, according to the general conversation topics he'd heard – eavesdropping was a simple manner of tactics, and easy to come across in places as such -

"Have you seen what's she's wearing? Dressing up for them corpses, wouldn't guess she was like that," said a blonde nurse wagging her brows at a furiously blushing nurse.

Sherlock just withdrew at that, for there were some things that puzzled him, for Molly had been what television would call  _hot and cold_ ; a mind-numbingly senseless way of putting it, but very true to her behaviour the previous night. John would of course suggest her being confused due to her having lunch with her ex Peter, or the texts from Ben, and then him. Yes, but there was something else – a simple coffee stain proved that – the dress – and the makeup put on afterwards. They lingered in the back of his mind, but he was missing something – just right out of reach. It was then she walked in – her brows connecting at the sight of him.

"You're here?" she said sounding startled, but not looking as shocked as he would have thought. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as he half-expected her to leave, but she entered the lab taking to sip from her Styrofoam cup.

"Obviously," he said not giving to look up from the microscope, waiting for the moment she warmed up to him entirely.

She just frowned at his reply, "I wouldn't think you'd be here really, I thought you'd have the decency to give me a week at least."

"People keep saying that - but I wasn't here for you."

"Right –  _well_  – people usually keep away, anyway."

"I had experiments to be done."

"You also have a very capable microscope – at home – better than ours," she said eyeing the specimen, which in turn caused her to giggle, "And - you've – err – you've examined those before too." His mock-samples had been a bad idea, especially when she had always had a keen eye for his studies – asking when she had no reason to ask.

He pressed his mouth closed in surprise, taking to look down at the brown-eyed pathologist who clearly was entertained, but soon took on herself a much more serious expression silencing herself with her sweet-scented coffee. Sherlock had given his speech some thought, knew where to put the well-aimed pressure, soften his gaze, as he'd slowly unravel her in that lab, but the minute he opened his mouth - "I am willing to forgive you," she quipped, brown eyes sparkling now, as her mouth quirked up.

"Oh?" he said standing facing her now. She seemed a bit daunted by this, her flush creeping up her face, but she didn't waver.

"If-," she started – his mind raced, as he finished the sentence "If we are to be strictly professional – if we are friends – if I never see your face here again - the scenarios playing out fully in his mind, but she ended it with "-we have an arrangement."

"I'm sorry?"

He blinked furiously at this, his blue eyes searching her steady brown ones, "I know it's probably a bit forward – I think we've gotten past that though," she said slightly apologetically, shielding her face with her cup, soon setting the cup aside, as she licked her lips without proper thought. He just stared in turn; trying to understand the look she gave him.

"Are you suggesting-," he began after a few seconds.

"Yes," she finished not letting him complete the sentence, her eyes never leaving his, as she gently put a hand on his arm. He raised a brow at the gesture, mouth half-open in astonishment, but she hastily retrieved her hand.

"An arrangement?"

"Yes, of sorts."

"I – I-," he attempted bewildered.

"I'll let you consider it - of course," she said biting her lip, soon stepping off, as he stood perplexed in the lab. He disposed of his samples in the waste, as he leaned on the counter. Molly was suggesting, indeed - something he knew would pop up at some point, considering their  _textual history_  up to this point, but he had thought it would be in a secure situation of sorts.

"Oh – sorry – forgot my cup," she said reappearing and grabbing her cup giving him a bit of an awkward shrug. "I hope I haven't scared you off - it doesn't need to be more than a one-time thing of course – I understand if it isn't your sort of thing."

"Isn't - my -  _thing_?" he said in rather clipped tones.

Molly's mirth was undeniable, "Oh, you know – right - I should go – you know –  _work_ -," she said, halting all of a sudden, taking to look at him appraisingly.

He felt suddenly quite nerved by that blazing look in her eyes, for she moved much closer now, but he returned it with quirking a brow in reply, "I think you need to educate me - Molly."

There it was, the red cheeks, the stunned eyes, as she took to gasp slightly at this. This was certainly not what she had practised for, "I'm – oh –  _really_?" she said clearly taken aback.

"Yes," he replied smugly.

"That can wait - I think," she said much more stronger, than she for the moment looked. Her pupils and flesh were betraying her, and she stood as rooted to the spot.

"Can it though?" he said turning the tables managing to press her up against the counter, and her eyes lingered for a moment on his mouth, before they swiftly went to his piercing gaze. He had his arms on either side of her now, leaning upon the counter, hovering over her face, as her mouth was half-open – her breathing much more erratic. He had closed in on her entirely, making it by no means easy for her to leave, not that it seemed she was inclined to do so.

"I'm actually having dinner with Peter," she said now for the first time looking somewhat angry, but by no means trying to disentangle herself from him.

"No, I think not," he remarked leaning closer to her face now.

She laughed at this, a proper one; "I'm not having dinner with you."

"Good - I'm not hungry," he said causing her to blanch.

Molly gave him a bit of a cross confused look, her breath smelled of sweet coffee -

"Oh – oh –  _oh_  – right," said the voice of John who had barged in, causing Sherlock to pull back, and Molly to hurriedly escape his clutches. "Timing," muttered John under his breath uneasily, as Molly gave him a tiny uncomfortable wave before walking off.

Sherlock glared at John from where he stood, not taking to say a word, as he soon picked up his mobile phone, which he pressed upon his ear, "Hello – James – I'd like an explanation please."

* * *

The conversation with James had turned a fruitful one indeed, catching Sherlock entirely up to speed with Molly's behaviour, "Revenge, apparently," he said to John, as they were back in Baker Street, for Sherlock needed some few items.

John drank his tea mulling the situation properly over, "So you're saying that they  _both_  knew – before you had said anything?"

"Yes," answered Sherlock who was going through his closet in his bedroom, throwing things around. John didn't question his actions, but he assumed they had something to do with Molly having dinner with Peter tonight.

"But they thought I wasn't involved?"

"Clearly – your girlfriend thinks very highly of you – I suggest you keep this one, John," said Sherlock stopping up for a moment causing John to grin. That was the first proper compliment he'd ever gotten from the man in his choice of a girlfriend. " _Despite_  her texting habits. You might want to tone those down."

John proceeded to ignore the last comment, as he'd seen Molly's share just to know where Mary and her were alike.

"Well, I must say well-played – trying to make me jealous – even confuse me with  _an arrangement_ ," said Sherlock with a sort of mad grin on his face.

"When you mean arrangement – you mean – err-,"

"Yes, John – yes, indeed – quite the thrifty original idea, really. Throw me off entirely - of course there were too many clues."

"She did have you."

"A little."

"She did, though."

Sherlock just scowled, "Jealousy? Really? – With Peter – of all people – Peter the dull beige doctor - with not a tiny bit of dark in him. Entertaining notion perhaps, where I would in  _a fit of passion_  appear at her date – I suspect also the reason Mary was very forceful in not wanting me to go to Bart's – knowing fully well I would not follow that order – simple really, and how excruciatingly stupid that they'd think that would work."

"Yeah, you're right – you'd not do that  _at all_  - I see how she completely went wrong with trying to make you jealous," said John knowingly. "You don't need to be so mad about it though."

"Who said I was mad?" said Sherlock looking rather delighted, than anything else, "I'll be going then – don't wait up."

"Believe me – I won't," said John taking a swig of his tea, as Sherlock ran out of Baker Street feeling quite hungry.


	13. Chapter 13

The wine was soon gone, that was certain. She felt like she was subconsciously reaching out for the bottle of red, every single time Peter opened his mouth, but he never did really close his mouth either. She looked at him now in a completely different light - at lunch he’d been somewhat pitying, but now he was bordering on stupid. 

He seemed to be under the impression, that her having accepted his invitation for dinner meant something, and now she wondered if dinner did mean dinner. Simultaneously, as she was irritated with his stupid arrogance, so was she with Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock who managed to see through her coy attempt on trying to fool him - she knew of course it wouldn’t last, but it was amusing to observe his startled face nonetheless. He looked completely caught off guard there, until he seemed to realise her intentions and the roles of hunter and deer were inevitably swapped without a second thought. Despite this, she knew she still had the upper hand, for if everything she had heard was correct – he had one weakness. Molly was certainly going to use it to her best advantage, despite having to put up with Peter who in the end was caught aware of her vacant expression. 

“Molly – are you listening to me?” he asked her, looking slightly affronted, before putting on a kinder expression. 

She frowned at him, “Yes - yes – just a bit tired, you know.”

“Yes - I know – you stepped out with Sherlock in that taxi last night. You’re bound to be exhausted.”

“I didn’t step out with Sherlock – he – he was just there, and as I said it was just – strictly - work-related.”

“Right,” spat Peter much more derisively than he’d intended. He did have some dark in him, but it made him more of a smarmy git – than at all interesting. “So, what do you think, then?”

Molly blinked a bit stupidly at this; trying to remember what he’d been saying, “Think about what?”

Peter grabbed for her hands, shoving some cutlery aside – they’d yet to receive their dinner. Molly stared at his hands in surprise, as he looked up at her with a grin, “You know – us – back together – I know it’s a bit fast, and you’re probably still a tiny bit mad at me.”

“Quite right there-,” mumbled Molly. 

“But I think we can work through your issues.”

“Sorry?” she said pulling her hands away from his. 

“Your issues – of course – with Sherlock Holmes.”

“Err – Peter – you’re the one who cheated – I don’t see how Sherlock has got anything to do with this.”

“Well, you were obviously already cheating too – weren’t you? – I was just retaliating to your dishonesty.”

“Dishonesty?” said Molly in sheer disbelief. “I’m sorry Peter – but this is just-,” she added feeling absolutely ready to go, when her phone went off. 

Peter who’d opened his mouth stopped all of a sudden, as Molly gingerly picked up her phone mouthing “Sorry” at him when she caught sight of the source. She knew she couldn’t run off now, despite him being a complete tosser.

You are not honestly considering having dinner with this man? – SH

Just as he’d been at lunch, Sherlock was again – there, but was he there to intervene or just perceive from a distance? She looked around for a moment, not spotting his fine head amongst the other dinner guests. 

“You’re doing it again?” said Peter rather angrily now, as Molly just tilted her head bemused. 

“Really? Peter, I’m doing it – err – I -,” the phone went off again. 

I’d keep it short. I think full-size words might be a loss to him – SH

She chuckled unintentionally causing Peter to glare at her phone. 

“Who’s texting you?” he demanded. “Is it that Ben-character you mentioned?”

You’re still hungry, I hope? - SH

Molly’s smile dropped immediately, “It’s none of your concern Peter. I can text with whomever I choose.”

“Is it him then? Are you texting with Sherlock Holmes?” he spat looking around in the restaurant. “I should have known, the idiot is following us, isn’t he? I don’t know what kind of sick game he and you are playing Molly, but I am not putting up with it.”

“You aren’t?” said Molly mock-seriously, “Good, then Peter – I suggest you leave.”

Peter looked at her properly aghast, “I’m not - I wasn’t – where is the git?” he muttered angrily, before his eyes widened. “He’s actually here,” he said astonished, soon standing up from his seat and storming off following a dark haired man with a familiar coat, who was lingering by the maître d’. 

Molly took to swallow some wine hurriedly, as various guests saw Peter take to run after Sherlock who also gave a run for it - rather inelegantly. He ran out of the restaurant, eagerly followed by Peter who sprinted after him. She saw the whole spectacle through the windows, as well as the rest of the guests – all who’s amused faces looked to her. 

Molly hid her face with a hand, a furious blush appearing on her cheeks, not knowing whether she should try to stop them, but at this point both men could fend well on their own. She emptied her glass, setting it down prepared to leave, when Peter’s seat was once again occupied. Expecting it to be Peter who’d regained his senses – she opened her mouth to deliver a scathing remark, but found herself gaping when a pair of familiar blue eyes were staring at her instead. 

“Sherlock?” she said baffled, turning her head to the Maître d’ for a moment in alarm. “I’m – who -wait – was that -,” 

“James is much more well versed in his non-speaking roles, don’t you agree?” said Sherlock with a smile, taking to straighten the cutlery that Peter had previously carelessly pushed aside. 

Molly stared at him, slightly nerved, “Where’s – Sherlock,” she said with a crease in her brows, trying to not let herself smile at the man. “What – what are you doing here?” she finally asked, as he was now gestured for the waiter, who soon appeared by his side. 

Sherlock silently pointed out his order on the menu, his eyes fixated on her, causing her to take a great deal of interest in her water, which she hurriedly drank to let the rush off wine to her head vanish, but she knew it was mainly not the drink that made her feel light-headed. 

The waiter inclined his head, rushing off, but looking albeit a bit confused by the change of suitor. Molly waited expectantly, meeting soon the blue gaze that beheld her without pulling back. 

“I am here for dinner, aren’t I? I’ve been considering your arrangement – I’d like to know the terms,” he said leaning back in his chair confidently. 

“The terms?” said Molly, her mouth suddenly going dry, as she soon clutched after her wine, but Sherlock steadied her hand. 

“You might want to be careful with that now. I don’t want to force you into a contract you might not like in the morning,” he said smirking, his hands entangled coolly on hers. 

He just gave a tiny smile, as she pulled back her hand. 

“Morning?” she asked. 

“Yes – morning – I suspect that the arrangement would indeed take place this evening, or have I arrived at a bad moment? I had hoped my timing was impeccable.”

Molly flushed, “Sherlock – I’m – I’m having dinner with Peter.”

Sherlock looked around in the restaurant, “You seem to have misplaced him, I think.”

He didn’t say anything now, waiting for her to speak, as he took to grab for her wineglass taking a sip. She leaned back a bit in her chair, sighing, as she said, “You - lied to me.”

“Is that unfamiliar?” he said putting the glass back on the table. 

“Sherlock.”

“Yes, well – I don’t find it unusual to our relationship really. It’s not as if you’ve been horribly truthful either, have you Molly?”

“Don’t even try, Sherlock – you pretended to be Ben, letting me spill all of my secrets to you, and then you end it all with a bloody fanfare informing me that I’m a nuisance.”

“People keep having a great interest in that word. I wouldn’t find it so unfamiliar really.”

“And now you’re here - asking me to have dinner with you?”

“You wanted an arrangement.”

“That was – because – Sherlock – you’ve not actually been – well – oh – god,” she blurted out rather flustered. 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about Molly. Quite the contrary – I would think that you’d be more embarrassed of the item I seem to have misplaced – if you recall?” 

Molly’s eyes widened, “Are you referring to-?”

“My riding crop in your drawer - quite a peculiar place to be really.”

“You broke into my flat? Oh – oh – what is wrong with you?” said Molly more to herself than to him. 

“Good question, I would like to ask you the same thing – pilfering riding crops from other men’s flat’s – a bit unhygienic at best Molly - perhaps?”

She coloured exceedingly more than even possible, shifting a lot in her seat, knowing that neither wine nor water could save her from the predicament, “Fine – I’ll give you the terms, then - shall I?”

He smirked at this. 

“I’d like for you to leave,” she bit back, and she saw in him a genuine look of surprise. She wasn’t throwing herself at him? He’d of course expected that, but she was certainly not going to give it to him - dinner or no dinner. 

“Leave?”

“Yes – leave – we’ll talk in a few weeks time, maybe, and maybe then I’ll not think of you as an arse, because considering what you’ve done – I don’t really have any choice do I?”

He quieted down that moment, “But you do have a choice, Molly. A very good choice to make, I don’t see why we should dance around the subject at hand really. It’ll be frightfully dull, I have very little patience for waiting – I suggest skipping to the good part, as John would say.”

“You can’t just expect me-,” she started, but someone was clearing his throat – it was Peter looking rather dishevelled there he stood his nostrils flaring. 

Sherlock just raised a brow in return, “Peter – you look a bit tired, won’t you have a sit down, then? I suggest you grab a chair,” said Sherlock with one of his all too wide smiles. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said rather breathily. 

“You should really sit down.”

“You - are – in – my - seat.”

Molly looked at the exchange fretfully, bordering on being absolutely thrilled despite her better judgement. 

“You seem to have enough strength to grab another chair, don’t you Peter? Being a physician, I’d suppose you’d manage that feat.”

“Peter – just – just - take a seat - please,” said Molly uneasily, as Peter forcefully grabbed after a vacant chair, placing himself between them scowling at Sherlock who returned his glare with a pleasant smile. 

“That is better, isn’t it?” said Sherlock with the sort of condescending air she ever only heard him reserve for Anderson. “We wouldn’t want you to injure yourself standing, would we? Now – Peter – you will be the judge of this.”

Whatever Peter was going to pass judgement over was forgotten, as the food appeared. It seemed that the waiter had cancelled Peter’s order – leaving Sherlock’s meal in front of him, which he gave only a slight shrug over, “Unfortunately, it seems that only Molly and I will be having dinner,” he said pointedly at Peter spearing a broccoli on his plate. 

The waiter eyed the scene nervously, quickly addressing Peter, “I’ll bring your order, sir.”

“Thank you,” replied Peter rather strained glaring at Sherlock and looking at Molly curiously. “You won’t get rid of me easily Mr Holmes – I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh God,” mumbled Molly, as Sherlock gave Peter a proper once-over. 

“Your actor-friend got one on the nose, and I am not against shoving my fist in your face, mate – so if you’ll just leave quietly I’ll let you go in one piece.”

Sherlock looked very doubtful at this, giving a proper smile, as he opened his mouth to give what Molly assumed would lead to a beating, so she said in haste, “I think it would be best if you were to leave – Peter.”

“You’re actually going to sit with this man?” he snapped.

“Peter – it’s not going to happen. I can’t trust you.”

“And you can trust him?” said Peter pointing at Sherlock demonstratively. 

“Yes,” said Molly without missing a beat. 

Peter was fuming, taking to swallow quite hard, as he spoke his next words directly to Molly, “Are you really going to choose him, then? He’s the one you want – this massive – prick?”

Molly returned the look fully, not flushing, or looking away, “Yes, Peter – I’ll be having dinner with Sherlock, and that’s the end of that – don’t call me. So please, if you did love me – just go.”

“Right – right -,” said Peter standing from his seat clearly disgruntled, before walking off, as Sherlock ate his food silently. “Good – good - bye - Molly.”

She stared after Peter’s back relieved, though a bit confused, and soon glanced at Sherlock’s face that was beyond doubt overconfidence itself. 

“Don’t be smug,” said Molly, when Sherlock hadn’t said anything. “I know that might be hard to ask of you really, but – at least try to be a bit-,”

He gave her a look; she shook her head for a moment, “Sherlock – why did you pretend to be another man? – It’s just – it is a bit-,” but as she was trying to find her words Peter returned hovering by their table. They both turned their heads facing him, and soon enough Peter’s fist smashed into Sherlock’s face.


	14. Chapter 14

She coloured, doubted - as her nails clung to her cheeks staring horrified at the scene before her. Tables were being overturned, guests were throwing themselves out of the way, food was being wasted on the otherwise immaculate carpet and Molly felt a twinge of want for her now toppled glass of wine.

Two men, or well  _one_ man was fighting for her – the other was swerving elegantly out of the way, despite being somewhat caught off guard by the fist that connected to his cheekbone the minute prior. It was one of the oddest things to see Peter hurling his fists brutally towards the much taller Sherlock, who seemed to be amused, despite it all. Peter threw some conveniently placed grins every time he managed a hit, as if it was an occasion to be proud of.

Sherlock however was trying to spew out reason to the man, his hands gesturing quite pointedly at Peter, who seemed even more maddened by his attempts at a truce. He was perhaps the better man, but he wasn't less of an idiot. The entire evening had been spent with him blatantly convinced that he had triumphed, but Molly saw herself as no trophy in particular to be won.

She had expected some ruckus – not shattered glass and blood stained tablecloths. Though when wasn't something involving Sherlock Holmes not chaotic? It didn't help that none of the guests dared to meddle, only giving to shout once in a while, as she already did – half-shrieking for Peter to stop. The staff were only trying to avoid the men breaking more glass, but hadn't really considered the chairs. It was the first and last time that Molly ever saw a chair being thrown at a man.

When she thought things couldn't get any worse, considering torn dress jackets and bloodied shirts – James came sprinting in acting a right fool, still sporting a bloody nose – only to find himself thrown aside by Peter – who in a rage was clearly much stronger than any of them. This was the downside with being quite pale and thin apparently. Luckily the police ran in not long after, and grabbed Peter who kicked and screamed as he was taken to the outside. Clapping ensued after that causing Molly to raise her brows, as she didn't quite understand what was impressive with this – Sherlock was however still standing, even if he looked a bit peaky. James took to hold him up, and they got out of the restaurant with her shuffling nervously after them avoiding any of the other guest's eyes.

* * *

James gave him a worried look, too worried for his taste, and he soon shrugged him off. He stood if not a bit uneasily, narrowing his eyes at the two policemen who instantly recognised him. By the look of them, he certainly wasn't their favourite, and considering the lack of nicotine in one of them – they were itching to detain him too. They seemed to rethink this, as Peter kept struggling against his binds.

"What do you want us to do, miss?" asked one of them. "We're sure to take him in, if you want, but we'll release him if you don't feel he was the one to blame here." He sent Sherlock a grim look.

Peter was quiet now, looking at her expectantly. With a sharp intake of breath she seemed much more tempted to run off than anything, but she stood her ground when Peter finally breached the silence, "That idiot just sat there making a laughingstock out of me."

She pursed her lips, glancing at Sherlock with two bright brown eyes, before she gave Peter a sharp look, "Sherlock –  _well_  – he - does that to everyone."

The policemen gave to chuckle, and the other who held Peter soon started to lead him away to the car. Molly just gave them a sheepish look, taking more interest in her mobile phone all of a sudden, than her ex being carted off by the police.

Her attentions were soon drawn, when Peter half-shouted, "You're really going to choose that git, are you? I shouldn't have wasted any of my bloody time with you."

Sherlock smirked, as he saw the rather raw look in her face. It was a similar expression to when she finally threw him out of Bart's. Molly gave a little dry laugh at first, blinking furiously at him, before saying in a cold sweet voice, "You'll have to phone up Jane, then. You can use up all her time, but I think she might be better off. Please take him away officers."

She turned on her heel rather smugly, but her brown eyes were directed worryingly towards James. Sherlock wondered if she was confused, for they did both wear the exact same clothes, but he knew her sight was splendid. He took to glare at the man who was receiving a much fonder look than he was.

Molly seemed quite confident until the words "Bitch," slipped out of Peter's mouth.

In the span of seconds, she wheeled around, her brown hair whipping about giving Peter the broadest grin he had ever seen, before Molly kneed him.

Peter would have keeled over hadn't the policeman still held him up. Both policemen just gave a minor shrug, as Sherlock said "I think she spoke rather eloquently of her feelings on the subject officers – I suggest you take him away."

* * *

Her knee did hurt, just a little, it felt much more present than usual, and as she wandered to where James and Sherlock stood she certainly felt lighter. The police soon drove off with Peter, and she stood wide-eyed before the two duplicates in front of her. Sherlock, being the original of the pair was staring at her intently, his blue eyes seeming mildly confused, as she gave all her attentions to James who was holding onto his bloody nose.

"Are you OK?" she asked, putting a tender hand on his shoulder, which caused James to give her a brief nod.

"I'm quite used to it - dressing up as Sherlock has gotten me into some trouble before really, but I'll be fine. He hasn't broken it at least – just a wee bit unsettled that's all -," said James receiving Sherlock's scowl, before awkwardly adding, "Well - I'm off - then – got – err – things to do – good to see you Molly – hopefully I won't be seeing any of your exes again."

"You won't," she promised, as she gave him a quick hug.

James proceeded to nod at Sherlock, "I'll see you, when you need me next then – hopefully not any time soon," and with a knowing look he disappeared down the streets without further ado.

Molly rummaged in her bag, finding none of her things forgotten, including her keys – gave to straightening her coat, before catching his blue eyes boring into her face. She gave him an innocent look in return before saying rather determined, "I better go too."

She started to walk, her heels clicking on the rather wet pavement, but she could distinctively hear him following her. Molly stopped abruptly glowering at him, "What?"

"Considering the evening's events – I would expect less coldness, especially from you Molly."

"You're expecting a nurse then?"

Words seemed to fail him, an unusual position for her, to find herself looking up at the otherwise brilliant man who seemed rather confused by her anger.

"Can't say anything – right –  _right_  – I'll just leave you to it then," she said stretching out her hand to hail a taxi.

Nothing he was going to say would convince her to stay.

He was certainly not going to manage to get into her flat any time soon.

And she was certainly not having dinner – or any sort of arrangement with the confident idiot.

He was so convinced she'd drop everything for him without a second's hesitation.

It was astonishing that he wasn't clever enough to see where he'd gone wrong – this was evidently one of his faults.

Sherlock had most likely anticipated being injured, and more than that – probably hoped for her to take care of him.

When the taxi took to stop, she opened the door without a second thought, and not considering saying goodbye – when she heard him colliding with the pavement - _that_  quickly changed her mind.

* * *

Don't come home – SH

_I'm at Mary's – JW_

Reconciled? - SH

_Oh yes – JW_

Sherlock opened his eyes abruptly recognising the surroundings instantly, as it was indeed his bedroom. He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten there, things were a certain blur really, and he felt certain body-parts in a very discomforting way. Moaning, as he remembered Peter, and how long it took the man to hit him. He had expected that. Short men with quick tempers, but Peter had waited so long – that when it came he was caught unaware already having a rather victorious speech with Molly. She however seemed not so happy with this, at the point of behaving as if he had given every blow himself.

The bedroom door creaked open, and in she came. Sherlock took to shut his eyes – hearing sounds of ice, the medical kit, and a cloth being dipped in a bowl of water.

"I know you're awake," she said, and he opened his eyes – finding her sitting on his bed. This wasn't exactly the scenario he had imagined when she would be in his room.

"Apparently," he retorted giving a bit of a cough, as his mouth tasted of blood. She just smiled taking to wring the cloth she'd dipped in water.

"It took some time to get you here, you were rather out of it – I thought for a moment you were pretending – but you didn't even wake up when Mrs Hudson and I managed to accidentally drop you on the steps - sorry about that," she said not seeming whatsoever miserable, as her mouth quirked upwards on the idea.

"John's not home then?" he asked.

"No, he's out at Mary's. She's not mad at him any longer – not that she could ever really be cross at him."

"Unlike you."

Molly frowned, as she slowly brought the wet cloth to his face. She halted a bit, before she carefully attended to his brow – with a curious expression on her face.

"I don't need a nurse," he said sounding much more gruff than intended.

"I know you don't, but John's not here," she said dipping the cloth back into the water.

"Mrs Hudson?"

"She's busy."

"Ah."

Molly looked into the medical kit, fetching out a compress, holding it in her hands for a moment, "You haven't got a concussion at least."

"No, I remember everything quite fine."

"Yet you still managed to – faint."

"I did not faint."

"There's nothing wrong with fainting Sherlock – considering how Peter kept hitting you, I'm surprised you weren't out earlier, really."

"Would you have left James to take care of me, then?"

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, "No, I wouldn't. He's an actor. Wouldn't be much help in this case." She slowly brought the compress to his face, giving to smile, as he annoyed groaned.

"You don't need to do this," he said giving to flinch a bit, as he touched his face gingerly pressing his lips together on the odd sensation.

"Stop touching yourself-," started Molly, who then bit her lip – shutting her eyes for a moment, as she turned crimson.

He raised a brow at her, eyeing the cold compress in her hands, "Err –  _well_ – you should have more laying about here, but there's only one – I've made these at least-," she gestured to some cloth wrapped around ice. "He did hit you in the stomach, quite a few times – err – sorry."

"You don't need to apologise."

She gave no answer to that, giving to breathe rather deeply there she sat on his bed, "You could have fought back, you know," she said rather softly, looking at the compress in her hands. "It was rather stupid of you to take his punches."

"John is usually the wrangler," he said with a smile, which admittedly hurt his cheeks, "He's not as attentive either. But – I am in no medical danger Molly."

"You're right – shall I just go home then, then?" she said standing up from the bed questioningly, while he pouted when the compress just lay flatly on his forehead.

She sat down on the bed again, picking up the compress, and pressing it upon his cheek gently. His blue eyes darted about where her hands attended to him, sweeping the compress from his cheek, to his brow, ending at his chin, as she gently tried to give relief to his features.

Her brown warm eyes looked worryingly into his face, "There's going to be some bruising."

He scoffed, as she gave him a look.

Molly stopped her attentions to his face all of a sudden, and he furrowed his brows in return, "Didn't John hit you when you came back?" she asked gingerly.

He didn't reply.

"Does it hurt?"

He narrowed his eyes, taking to answer slowly, "Yes."

"Good," she quipped.

"You're happy he hit me then?"

"Well – you certainly weren't surprised he did."

"No, I was surprised he hadn't done it sooner."

She laughed, "You deserved it."

"I suppose it isn't because I offended him – that I deserved it, then – since you're smiling in that manner."

"That too, but I haven't seen a man so convinced I'd sleep with him." He furrowed his brows at her, "Yes –  _you_."

"You  _are_  sitting on my bed."

Molly rolled her eyes, "Sherlock – really – after all you've done – it's a surprise I didn't slap you myself."

"I think that would have hurt less."

"Exactly."

"Didn't stop you from hitting Peter."

Her brows knitted at this, "He – err – well – I'm not proud of it."

He raised a brow.

"OK – I'm a bit proud of it – at least he got that I don't want to get back together with him. I suppose you're going to tell me off for my _horrible_  taste in men."

"How could you even consider me pointing out the flaws of your taste in the opposite sex?"

"Right," she said doubtfully, "Don't date - that's what you told me once, and I was about to have a lunch-date too."

"I hope I didn't ruin your evening."

"You never ruin my evening Sherlock – or – _well_  – you did tonight, but I expected that."

"Luring me under false pretences Molly," he said tutting now, "D _inner_  with Peter – I am sorry to say that it did not gain the response I'm sure you wanted."

"Says the man who showed up."

"I was barely intrigued. I knew you wanted me to appear, so I materialized for your sake. You seemed very bored – I hate leaving anyone bored."

"Well – your tricks kept everyone entertained. I don't think there was one bored person present, really."

"You sound pleased."

"I'm not, Sherlock – you could have ended that dispute much faster than you did, but you didn't."

"I am not happy about the end-result if it is any comfort."

"How's that?"

"You are mad - it's not very difficult to deduce, but I have the rest of the evening to repay you."

"How are you going to do that exactly? I'm the one taking care of you, and I hadn't thought of staying that long really."

"You hadn't?"

"No."

"Ah."

"What? Do you want me to?"

"If you wouldn't be against it - I might need something."

She looked at him doubtfully, "Coffee?"

"No, not exactly, but considering my state – it is rather unprofessional of you to leave me."

"You're much more alive than my regular patients. Bearing that in mind - I think you'll live."

Neither said anything, but she didn't leave either, still pressing the compress to his face gently, "I can –  _yes_  - I'll sneak off to –  _oh_  - maybe not John's bedroom - since I'm sure Mary  _visits_."

"Yes - she does," said Sherlock scowling at the thought, "You can sleep in the bed."

"What bed? Is there a guest-room?"

"You're sitting on it."

"Oh –  _no_ \- I can take the sofa."

"It's not as comfortable as the bed."

"Yes, but I don't want you to sleep on the sofa."

"I didn't intend to."

"So – we're  _both_  going to sleep on the bed?"

"It was the idea, yes. The sofa isn't as spacious really. I don't feel compelled to move from the spot, and you do need a decent night's sleep. The sofa won't do in that case."

"Oh," she said feeling not at all tired.

"Don't be so alarmed."

"I'm not alarmed."

"You look alarmed."

"I'm not – I just – I can sleep on the sofa – it's really not a problem."

"Is it a problem to sleep in the same bed as me?"

"Sherlock," she snapped, dropping the compress from his face, tossing it onto the bed, "I'm not going to argue with you about this."

"Well - if you were to agree with me it would certainly make the situation easier," he spat rather heatedly.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she retorted sweeping some hair from her face.

"I am just offering you my bed."

"Yes - with you in it."

"Problem?"

"No, it's no problem," she said, her eyes downcast, as she picked up the compress again. Molly let it sit in her hands, eyes flickering to his shirt, and he knew what was racking her brains at this point.

She cleared her throat, "Err – could you unbutton your shirt?"

Her hands gestured wildly to his front, and she seemed to be edging away from him.

Shuffling uneasily on the spot, her thighs unintentionally being shown, as her dress got pulled up in an upward direction. His eyes followed her crossed legs, but she took no note – as she was averting his gaze.

"I know you're quite able to do it Sherlock," she said sounding rather exasperated.

He gave a quick smile, which she didn't notice,

"It's not visible above the collar," he said trying to sound irritated by the idea.

She looked at him expectantly, "Fine," he snapped, his fingers peeling every button open, but painstakingly slow.

He could see that he was having an effect on her, for her eyes darted above his head, fixed suddenly on his wall, and his expert hands deftly swept the shirt open wide.

Molly cleared her throat again, flush creeping slowly into her face and chest, as her eyes landed on his torso fleetingly, "Oh – well – it's not that bad – just a bit bad, really." He laughed at her observation.

* * *

He's still unconscious – M

_Leave him. John will sort him out in the morning – MM_

He might have a concussion – M

_So how much do you want to stay? – MM_

Shut up – M

It was nothing short of difficult to get him back to Baker Street, despite the extra helpful hands she got from the cabbie or Mrs Hudson. Sherlock was entirely out, resting in her lap in the back of the taxi, taking up all of the space, and she could only imagine the situation if he had been awake. Of course she didn't need to stroke his hair away from his face, but she felt compelled to nonetheless. He looked terribly innocent there he lay, no ridiculous statements being given and just looking the air of virtue. Had he been awake, the circumstances would have been different, and she might have gotten home – angrily eating the insides of her fridge. When she finally got him upstairs, ushering Mrs Hudson away, as the landlady did have a dinner arrangement with someone – she found herself positively hating the attractive man, wondering if she should just let him be. The fact that John was nowhere to be seen wasn't very helpful either, and she had brought him there under the pretence that his friend would be the one who'd help him.

Now he'd woken up, his shirt unfurled and beaten up torso on display for her to see. She quietly took the cloth to his chest, "Where does it feel worse?" she asked stroking him with the cloth first, trying not to look in his face.

He gives no answer, "Or – maybe it'll heal on it's own, then," she said taking to fold his shirt shut, but he stopped her hands with his.

His warm hands on her cold ones, "I think I might need to change, don't you agree? Sleeping with a blood stained shirt isn't my idea of hygienic."

Molly stared at her hands, recovering quickly, as she pulled herself away rapidly taking to rummaging through his closet.

Everything was neatly folded, clothes hung perfectly coordinated – if there was one place he was organised it was his closet. The rest of his flat was disputable. She assumed that the people who were to blame for it being acceptable where John and Mrs Hudson.

Molly reached for a fine black shirt on a hanger, when she suddenly felt his breath on her neck. He stood suddenly hovering right behind her, the proximity alarming, as he murmured in her ear, "I'm not going out Molly – you don't need to dress me up." Sherlock had obviously regained some strength, enough to try to change his clothes.

She swallowed, eyes shutting for a moment, as she felt the heat from him, "Are you saying you wear pyjamas? I have a hard time believing that," she quipped giving a bit of a laugh now, which ended quite half-heartedly - the room turning even more silent due to it.

Molly felt his breath on her neck now, as he replied, "I don't."

There is no nervousness in his body, just fluent movement as he set the hanger back inside, but he does not move from behind her. She does not move either, eyes dancing from side to side, slightly unsure what to do, but she jokes, "I hope you've considered the fact that I am going to be in bed with you, then?"

"I have," he whispered.

She fixed her gaze on the shirts, there are blacks, there are purples – every single piece a statement – trying to cool her mind, before she said, "And?"

The warmth from him pressing against her back disappears, he walked away again, and she wheeled around to face him. He lay down on the bed with a slight groan, as if the soft cushions were torture to his pale bruised skin.

"I'll make something to eat. You've got something in the fridge," she tried to say casually.

"I do, but I suggest you order in nonetheless," he said coolly not looking at her, as he slipped off his shirt with furrowed brows. It was evident that despite standing on his feet he was still in pain.

She exited the room hurriedly stepping into the kitchen, ignoring the mess, and just prodding into the fridge. Molly shut the door hurriedly, as he was right – it was bare, except some few body-parts (that he'd obviously nicked from her). No, wonder they always ate out really.

There was a menu on the fridge, some Chinese restaurant nearby, and she felt tempted by the look of the kitchen to ask him to go out with her, but she reasoned she could quickly tidy it up beforehand. Considering his state it would be better if they stayed in the flat, and he might not even leave the bed.

She fetched her phone from her bag, ringing them up, as his "regular's" where already circled around on the menu itself.

"Yes, a number 24 and a 17 – yes, and some drinks – It is for 221b Baker Street – oh, it's free? Well, that's nice, I'll be sure to tell him-," she said with the phone pressed to her ear, as the bedroom door slammed open and Sherlock appeared wearing just a sheet looking disgruntled, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Molly raised her brows at the antics, "How long? – Oh – twenty minutes – OK – well, see you then." She hung up staring at the bathroom door wondering what on earth she was doing there.

It was going to be a long night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should have edited this more, but bullocks it.

She heard the water filling the bathtub. After a while she thought she could hear him use a scrub. The rest of her imagination however filled the gaps of what she presumed he was doing, which was innocently taking a bath – as was his want – he was after all rather a mess. It wasn't that her mind needed to go there, it just did. First gingerly he'd wipe at the back of his neck, his dark hair probably soaked, clinging to his face, as he continued over both arms and his torso.

Molly shook her head for a moment, taking to stand up, before starting to tidy. The place wasn't a mess; it was evident that John kept it all in check, but still she had to occupy her hands with something. She didn't actually expect Sherlock to call out for her, that he wouldn't manage to wash his own back, or other conceivable places where her mind reeled.

One moment she hated the man, another she found herself taking care of him – their entire relationship in a nutshell. This was just another cup of coffee, another favour out of the very many she'd given throughout the years, and yet the air felt different. Maybe it was because she wasn't breathing properly, at some point the food arrived, and she propped the bag on the table. She stared at the white paper bag, with the red illustration of a dragon on the side, the smell of spices tempting her, but she kept on fidgeting. There was no room for distractions, even if she kept on shifting things around, folding a blanket, and taking to turn on some light - her mind constantly turned to the bath and its occupant – whom she was going to share a bed with; it would make the best of people anxious.

For was she really going to stay there, of all places, and sleep in his bed without a second thought – not considering all that had happened? It seemed easy enough, she'd forgiven him so many times, but this was different – this would lead somewhere, where that somewhere would lead she did not know. He would most likely not smile this away, disappearing off somewhere on another on of his cases. She sighed loudly, the silence in the flat overwhelming, as she suddenly felt tempted to run out of the flat. Molly brought out her phone - taking to examine the various texts sent from the fictional Ben by the hand of Sherlock, and then from Sherlock himself.

Her mind spun, when she saw the utter likeness of those texts, and heard his voice reading them in her head. It had been him all that time - how had she not seen it earlier? – But then again she was more pleasantly occupied, not properly reading into things, and never ever could she in her wildest of imaginations come up with something like that. The whole idea was madness, the whole fact that it had taken place was absolutely beyond insane, and yet she couldn't help inwardly giggling over it.

Here she was practically throwing herself at the man in text, no shame and no fear whatsoever, and he didn't seem to shrink away from the idea either. She had thought, that when she blatantly threw herself at him with her proposal that he would flee, but he had not. Instead he took her up on her offer, of course because he knew she was trying to fool him (not so well either), but it was still hard for her to believe that the man indeed  _did_  fancy her. The evidence before her was proof enough; every single line in the palm of her hand, and it was terrifying.

It reminded her of that one time Mary had observed, "Why don't you just talk to him, then?"

"I  _talk_ to him."

"No, you don't – you –  _well_  – you don't talk."

"We've had conversations."

"Right – what did you talk about? – And don't say cases or just about him."

"Err – well – there was – err – I suppose, you know – OK, so I haven't really been-," she spluttered midst thought.

"Yourself?"

"Oh, shut up," she had said, before laughing it away. They didn't talk of it anymore after that, only her bringing him up once in a while, for she always did.

She did need advice now, however, and so she found herself hurriedly pressing on her mobile phone's screen.

Is it a bad idea to stay the night in his flat? – M

_When you ask if something's a bad idea. It is obviously a bad idea. Is he still unconscious? - MM_

No - M

_That's horrible! He's awake, you're awake, which means anything could happen. You should go – MM_

Do you mean that? – M

_Yes, GO NOW – MM_

Fine, I'll stay – M

_Good. I expect a detailed conversation later - MM_

She was staying, it was decided, she wasn't going to run off, and he was certainly not going to scare her off. Everything was fair at this point, so she might as well make the best of it. Molly stood up from her chair, and soon tapped upon the bathroom door with her hand – quietly at first, until she gave it a good rapping. She wasn't going to be pretty about it, no, not at all, and so she smiled to herself. He was just a man after all, a man who was horribly silent inside of his bath, and so she reached for the doorknob, which opened at her touch. She stepped inside the steamy room.

"Sherlock?" she said blinking against the rather humid air.

He made a low "hmm" from the bath, not seeming to find it intruding that she was inside the bathroom of all places, and he was beyond all doubt absolutely starker's. Her eyes hit the ceiling; she started to mentally count the tiles, "Food – its here – if you want it - that is - of course - since you're in the bath."

He gave no answer; she blinked several times, before directing her eyes downwards. His eyes were closed, as he was leisurely inclined in the bathtub – the water was barely covered with foam. Her eyebrow jerked upwards when her eyes flickered over his barely concealed body, swallowing, she asked, "So – should I start eating without you?"

He slicked his wet hair back, tendrils still escaped and fell down on his forehead, and his blue eyes were looking questioningly at her, "Was that all Molly?"

"You don't need anything, right?" she asked hands held behind her back, as she stood nervously on the spot.

He gave a brief smile at this, "Hand me my towel."

She handed him the navy coloured towel, as he stood up from the bathtub – water dripping down his front. Her eyes were kept towards the door, away from his gaze, as he wrapped the towel around his waist without much ceremony.

She realised she'd overstayed her welcome, and soon tripped more or less out of the room, rather inelegantly. Her cheeks flaming, while slightly out of breath as the cold air hit her. Not that it was especially cold in the rest of the flat, but it was certainly a sauna in the bathroom.

She calmed herself, tending to the paper bag, taking out plates with a clatter, and tried to carefully administer the food on the plates. Not that they couldn't eat out of the plastic boxes, but then she'd have something else to do than wait.

The door to the bathroom creaked open; she blanched, but kept on shuffling food on the platter, before she fetched some utensils. She was sure he could wield a chopstick, but she surely couldn't. Molly half-expected him to get dressed, before attending to his meal, but she was in error when he seated himself in the living room donning a blue robe.

She soon scurried off with their plates, "Careful it is a bit – err - hot," she said more quietly than intended, as she gave him the plate, and he quirked his brow over her shyness.

She pulled herself together, "Are you feeling better then?" she asked seating herself in the chair opposite to him, glad that he was clad in something else than just a towel, for she wouldn't know were to look.

"Yes, much better, thank you," he said.

She gave a short nod, accepting the unexpected brief thank you, and gave to forking her food, not at all hungry anymore, especially not for food.

"So, is there anything you want to do then?" she asked after a minute silence.

He gave her a sharp look, she returned a harmless one, as he said, "Nothing that comes to mind, Molly. Excellent ordering."

"John circled around your favourites," she said, "Not very hard to figure out."

He pursed his mouth, seeming to think, as he gave to stare, "Do you need any clothes, then?"

"Me? Oh, no – I'm fine."

"You shouldn't ruin your dress perhaps," he said eyeing her, as she had tucked her feet under her – her dress wrinkling up due to it.

"This old thing-," she halted, as she, "Fine, you know it's new, then right?"

"Obviously – you've forgotten to remove tag."

"Not so much forgotten, no," she said wryly, tucking the tag away, as it had evidently been poking out by her neck.

"You're returning it, then?" he said tilting his head, as if baffled by this piece of new information.

"I don't know if it is entirely my taste," she lied.

"Well, it is much better than your usual taste."

Molly frowned, "You must be feeling better," she said.

He furrowed his brows, "Why do you think that?"

"You've managed to insult me already."

"So you would rather go clad in your hairy jumpers with hearts on them, and woollen skirts?"

She narrowed her eyes a little, taking to jab at her food with her fork, "No," she just replied.

He gave a satisfied smile at this, clearly pleased with this news, of her having changed her style over time.

"Is it Mary, then?" he asked eyeing her dress curiously.

"No, it's me."

"Good," he just replied, and so they ate in silence.

* * *

Her feet were bare, her hair loose curling at the ends, and her fingers entangled in it, as she gave him an odd gaze from under her lashes, "Are you OK?" She had caught him staring.

"Yes, I am fine," he answered finally prodding at his food.

He found himself suddenly regretting his choice of apparel. Luckily the room was sufficiently warm, and it was evident by the fact that Molly had slipped of her stockings, which lay on the sofa quite forgotten – that she too was feeling the heat.

"You sure you aren't suffering from a concussion – you keep staring," she said a bit wide-eyed, finishing it off with a big smile.

"I am not staring," he said.

"Where's the dress from, then?"

He smiled; she always did like it when he used his mind, one of the few people besides John apparently.

"Harvey Nichols – the price tag leaves very little to the imagination."

"But the print is small," she said bringing the tag forward, grimacing at it.

"The price isn't - considering where you live, and the shape of the dress – it is obviously from their fall collection. A demure classic, and one you should keep."

She sniffed a bit, soon tucking the tag away again, exposing her neck, as she soon put her unruly hair to one side.

"You're staring again."

"I am trying to _figure_  you out. You've taken off your stockings, so you have no intentions of leaving at least."

"Did taking off my stockings, tells you that? I could still leave you know."

"No woman takes off her stockings in a man's flat without the intention of staying. And no - you won't."

She looked a bit confused at that, shook her head a bit, sighing, as she said, "You seem to know a lot about women."

"I have to."

"Well, you still managed to cock things up," she bit her lip immediately at this.

"I wouldn't phrase it as such, no – I suppose that is from-,"

"Mary – yes – that's  _very_  her," she said with her eyes cast downwards towards the plate wobbling on her lap, with several napkins tucked underneath to protect the dress. She obviously liked it, and so he knew it was the price that kept her shying away from it.

"She's a good influence then."

Molly started at this, "You like Mary?"

"I've never said anything against her."

"Yes, you have."

"That's what John expects of me, I think he'd be a bit more suspicious if I were to congratulate him of his choice of  _girlfriend_."

"You don't need to say that so angrily."

"What?"

"Girlfriend – it's not a bad word Sherlock."

"I'm quite aware, Molly, but she isn't my girlfriend is she now? I shouldn't find it appropriate to connect her to that word, when she is John's girlfriend – I think he'd frown upon that."

"Ok," she said looking suspiciously at him, before directing her attentions to her plate dangerously wobbling on her lap, as she said "I've got to ask, but – you texted me as James – why did you suddenly start to text as yourself?"

"Think," he just replied.

"Sherlock," she said rather crossly now. He did like seeing her angry, her cheeks heated up, her chest heaved, and her fists were clenched at her side, but this wasn't the same woman who kneed what's-his-face.

"You know where the door is," he said jerking his head in the direction of the door.

She looked at him defiantly.

"Do you want me to say it then?" he said feeling very unnerved there he sat.

"Have I got to ask better questions, then?"

"Possibly," he smirked.

She stared now; taking him in, before she leaned back in her chair, "Do – you – fancy – me?"

He blinked furiously at this, taking to put his plate aside, the food sinking to the estimation of ashes in his mouth.

"I have a somewhat different association towards you than I had previously," he said rather slowly.

Molly gaped at this, her cherry lips shutting immediately, as she mulled over the words, "What  _association_  exactly?"

He gave her a sharp look, "That's not an appropriate question Molly."

"I just asked you this morning - if you and I were to have an  _arrangement_ , and you're saying -  _this_  is an inappropriate thing to ask?"

* * *

He turned silent after that, half-raising himself from the chair, his fingers tapping hurriedly on the side of his cheek – this was Sherlock nervous. It was a baffling sight, of all things to have ever seen him like, when he had no outright answer.

She bit her lip a moment, before she said very sweetly "Sherlock, I don't want you to be my boyfriend – if you're worried about that."

He'd almost thrown his head in his hands at this point, but he jolted up in surprise, "Why not?"

Molly stared at him in shock, "Wait –  _what_?" Him being silly was soon forgotten, replaced with something entirely different, and all of sudden she felt a bit light-headed.

Sherlock had suddenly turned calm again, leaning back in his chair, "Thank you for informing me just that. I feel quite fine now. You've taken care of me perfectly." He'd gotten very cold in the span of seconds, "You know where the door is."

Molly removed the plate from her lap, setting it aside, still eyeing him, as she said, "OK."

She fixed her eyes on him, as she stood up from her seat. He looked up at her in wonder, furrows in his brows, for her steps were not towards the door, but to him. His breath turned much more shallow, she gave a smile, as she soon took to straddling his lap. Her dress itched up, she gave it no notice, for she continued to look him in those blue eyes of his, as she attempted to grab the back of the chair with a hand to steady herself. His hands snaked around her back however. He held her now; she could feel his hands pressing upon her through the thin fabric of her dress. Sherlock did not move another muscle however, yet he was staring intently on her lips. His eyes quickly flickered upwards, a calm expression on his face.

"So - you  _don't_ fancy me?" she said in a very playful tone taking to carefully put her hands on either side of his face, with a curious expression on her face.

She kissed the edge of his mouth tenderly, pulling back, her eyes slightly narrowed, as she said, "Your pupils are dilated – but then again it could just be a bodily reaction." The statement was preceded with a minor wiggling of the hips, she gave him an apologetic look, "Sorry," she said with a grin on her lips "I'm just trying to get comfortable."

He did an intake of breath, as he rather throatily whispered,

"What do you want me to say?" Her hands had dropped from his face now.

"You could text me, if it makes it easier," she said taking a gander around the flat, "But you seem to have misplaced your phone."

"Clever - Molly."

"Yes, and here I am – sitting in your lap, and you're doing absolutely nothing."

"What are my responsibilities?" he said drawing her much harder onto his lap this time, firm hands on her bottom. She yelped in surprise, but her expression never changed.

"Responsibilities?" she repeated inclining her head.

"Yes, Molly – what – do – you –  _want_  – me – to - do?"

"I thought you'd done this before," she said teasingly.

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to hear your detailed description of the scenario. You were  _thorough_  enough on text, it shouldn't be such a feat."

"Careful, I could still slap you, you know."

"One lives to hope," he replied.

"I shouldn't even be here."

"Why not?"

"I should be in my flat, taking care of my cat."

"I do hope you mean your cat."

"Luckily I already fed Toby."

"You didn't expect to come home tonight then?"

She grimaced at him, squirming slightly there she sat – her knickers pressed up against his crotch. The silk and lace their only separation, "I did expect to actually, don't be so presumptuous – even if it is you."

"I promise to be good," he lied.

"Don't – that kiss in the dark then - that was a surprise."

"Yes,  _why_  exactly did you stop?"

"I was taken aback," she said biting her lip.

He had gotten one of his hands free from her; he took to stroking her lower lip "You shouldn't bite it so much."

"You aren't."

His mouth quirked upwards, his hand dropped, as he soon took to pulling her towards himself – their mouth inches away from each other, just breath mingling with each other, and she could smell a hint of mint in his mouth.

"You brushed," she said quietly.

"You haven't," he murmured in return, and she was about to give him a smack on the shoulder, when his mouth was on hers.

It was an overwhelming sensation, how very different from the kiss in the hallways of Heaven, and much more heavenly than the lewd nightclub promised. Tentative at first, slowly nibbling on her lower lip, as she grabbed hold of him towards her – realising quite fully how naked he was under his silk robe. His hands touched her lower back, as his tongue darted gently inside her mouth.

She pulled back, mouth half-open, as she said, "I've not forgiven you entirely yet, you know."

"I have patience."

She looked at him in disbelief, "You didn't have when we were at the restaurant."

"Yes, that was a bad move, wasn't it?"

"Very."

"I suppose I'll have to learn to behave in a  _more gentleman-like manner_."

Her eyes widened, "You're quoting Jane Austen now?"

"A man learns from his mistakes."

"You're no ordinary man, and you usually never learn from yours."

"Doesn't mean I cannot wait."

"Does this mean, there'll be more of this?"

"Obviously."

"Why is that, then?"

"You are far too clever to pretend you do not know the reason."

"Let's say I'm very stupid, then."

He scoffed, "Fine – I am – and have been for some time rather taken with you Molly Hooper, now get off my lap, and let us enjoy our dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, then let us watch television - or do what all of those other foolish couples do," he said clearly not grasping what she was saying.

"We're a couple?"

"I had thought that was what one usually does in these circumstances."

"Oh."

"What?"

"No, I'm just surprised."

"I hadn't intended of sharing you exactly."

She took to frown now, soon enough the frown turned into a mouth-splitting grin. With a devilish look in her eye she said, "I'd rather not do any of those things."

"What things?"

"Tonight that is – we've got plenty of time for that."

"What do you want to do instead?"

She raised a brow daringly, her eyes on his mouth, as she recaptured his lips into a kiss – their noses half-colliding during it - a deeper much more ferocious kiss, tongues entangled, as her hands started to pull at the strings of his robe.

He drew back in astonishment, "This is what you want, then?"

"What did you expect?"

"I had thought we'd have a long period of suffering."

"I think we could do, that later, don't you? Minus the suffering."

His lips curled into a smile, his mouth returning to hers, and with startling strength; he lifted himself off the chair still holding onto her, her legs wound around his lower back.

He obviously intended to go further than just the living room, but failed tremendously, crashing onto the floor causing their plates to tumble down. They gave the food no thought - her back against the carpet, as he was hovering over her, mouths still connected, but he broke off taking to kiss the hollow of her neck, spreading kisses to her cleavage, before re-capturing her mouth tenderly.

Her nails dug against his back, and he pushed upon her with wild abandon. She could feel his length pressing upon her dress, and she gave to smile, as he kissed her affectionately on the lips, breaking now to attempt to remove her dress, which proved great difficulty upon the floor - the zipper demonstrating to be an unsolvable problem in the heath of the moment.

Molly laughed, seeing his frustrated look. Sherlock raised a brow at her laugh. And she easily zipped the dress open - he pulled it off throwing it aside carelessly – tag and all forgotten.

She started to pull on his robe's cord now, once again, and he did not stop her – there he was absolutely naked, the glimpse she saw in the bath barely touching the subject of his body. His pale body beautiful and with some odd scar here and there – questions to be answered later.

He effortlessly took off her lace bra, no help needed in entangling that one, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, as she moaned.

Her hands caressing his now naked back, for he'd shrugged off the robe entirely off. His hands cradling her towards him, lifting her a little off from the floor, as he hurriedly slipped off her knickers tossing it aside.

Sherlock soon enough slid his hand towards her already warm centre, slipping elegantly in his fingers, as she moaned, "Please."

He gave to grin at this, boyish for him, but instead of listening to her he removed his fingers without hesitation, and started to administer kisses between her breasts, continuing down her abdomen, before he placed himself right between her legs. He lifted her legs over his shoulders, taking to kiss her inner thighs, but never were she cried out for.

She tried to pull him upwards; he just pushed her hands aside, "Keep them still and above your head," he commanded, before giving her a little lick as punishment.

She gasped, and did as he said – but he did not continue. He kept on kissing everywhere except where her body pleaded him to, her body pressing towards him automatically. Yet he kept on teasing her breasts, her inner thighs, even going as far as kissing her foot, but gave no attention to her warm centre. He started to kiss his way from her ankle, before wounding up entirely between her legs licking at her mound.

Sherlock knew absolutely well what to do in this department, overthrowing any rumour of virgin entirely, as his tongue slid in and out of her folds teasing, stroking deftly with absolute confidence, as she moaned loudly from the carpet pressing against his mouth without any consideration. "Please – don't-," she started on the brink.

"Don't – what -," he said raising his head looking at her boldly, and now she pulled him up towards her, he let her this time, their mouths once engaged with one another.

He stroked her breasts, as her hand touched his shaft. Sherlock's breath became ragged, as her hand stroked him towards her opening.

"Molly," he said hoarsely.

"Yes?" she said, before turning him on his back, he did not resist, as she took him in her mouth. Her mouth sliding up and down his length, tongue darting about, as she took him entirely in her mouth. He lifted himself towards her mouth, absolutely at loss for words, as her mouth continued to work upon him. She soon removed her mouth, adjusting herself properly on top of him; his hands took her breasts in his hands, before her mouth returned to his lips carefully.

Molly broke off, "Maybe," she started rather breathlessly, before he overthrew her onto the carpet passionately caressing her naked body.

She forgot entirely her suggestion, as he slipped inside of her in one large thrust, pounding her hard onto the carpet, taking to exert himself into moving slowly, for it not to end too quickly.

"What – Molly?" he asked narrowing his eyes, and she shook her head as an answer, her hips jerked up to meet his movement.

His throaty guttural moan in her ear, as she kissed his cheek before meeting his mouth, whimpering during the kiss. He pushed and pulled in and out of her, his mouth alternating between her mouth and her breasts.

She was certain to have marks on her back by the end of it, her moans growing louder by the second, as his breathy voice continued.

An overwhelming sensation building from within her, starting to spread throughout her body - he pulled himself almost out - as if knowing, soon pushing in again, as she cried for more.

The excursion of their activity blatant on both their bodies, sweat on his brow, and torso. His lips kissing the edge of her mouth, as she clung to him – her voice turning hoarse from how loud she was.

Then she broke entirely down, crying out, as he spent himself inside of her. His head dropped between her breasts spreading tiny kisses on her chest.

He did not move, breathing deeply just, as he rested upon her – she stroked his dark locks, smiling while she did, keeping him close, hoping he would not leave, but he made no move to do so – savouring the feeling of her.

They lay there for a while, the carpet stinging beneath her.

"Bed?" she said in a small voice, barely able to speak, as her legs felt wobbly.

He gave her a peck on the lips, gently slipping out of her, taking to stand up. She was about to get up, but he took to lift her up from the floor, "I'm not making that mistake again," he said carrying her towards the bedroom.

"I don't mind the bruising," she joked.

He gave her a look, mouth quirking upwards, as they stepped inside his room – forgetting entirely to shut the door - continuing their activities until it got bright.


	16. Chapter 16

_Are you OK? - J_

She stole the sheets at one point, this was of course after making him get used to her sleeping on his chest, which was unusual enough as it were. He had however never slept so deeply either, so when he unexpectedly woke up due to cold, finding her tangled in the sheet on the other side of the bed, face planted into a pillow; he was a bit startled over her greediness, and the fact that he wanted her in particular close to him.

It was unsettling, he had almost considered scrambling out of the bed, but he managed to get some sheet off her instead admiring her shape. She gave to sigh, as she slept – while he gingerly touched her, ushering small responses, such as the corners of her mouth lifting up in a smile when he gave to kiss her ever so lightly on her neck. At one point when he kissed her on her mouth, she responded in turn, still absolutely asleep, which made him interested in those dreams, that uttered small untimely sighs from her lips.

A woman who had always liked him, never expecting anything in return, playing small games with him, without giving it any particular thought, that he'd ever notice, and one day he did – when he finally saw who she was. She was not mousy; she was playful, brimming with silent confidence, a great deal of mirth – sudden exclamations, which shook him, and made him wonder what else she'd hidden. From her flat, to her life, to her entire being. Her body gave much away in itself, but what lay locked away in her mind – he knew not. He felt determined to figure her out, at least, and he'd start slowly with her body.

There were three freckles forming a triangle on her lower back, a birthmark in her inner thigh, a thin scar on her waist – her hands dainty, capable of holding her tools precisely, maybe even having dabbled in some instrument, most likely piano, her dark hair curling up, and her bottom unimaginably soft (so was the rest of her).

He wondered idly, while caressing her arse, if every single female were that soft in particular. When he had dabbled in  _the arts_  previously, there was very little interest in staying, than pure curiosity over the issue itself, since everyone were admittedly speaking of it in such terms as comparing it to be better than any known substance. For his sake, it didn't really hold up then, however, everything lacked, when comparing it to the healthy exercise that had kept him up most of the night with her, who seemed in the end as insatiable as he was.

At some point fatigue did indeed hit them, and he assumed he was going to turn around, when she suddenly laid down on his bare torso, her face cuddled into his neck breathing him in, as her fingers stroked his chest gingerly, and he gave no startling protest. Now, only accepting this other aspect, which was the freedom to touch her, and her him. There was something pleasant in doing something, that wouldn't lead into strenuous activities, which he would in idea abhor, but in fact take sheer delight in – for her responses, her smiles, and her kisses. If this was what everyone painted out to him for years, talking of in such a sparkling delight of, he understood it, for there was relief in the pit of his stomach, and a feeling of being absolutely overwhelmed. He had never been overwhelmed in such a state in his life, not even managing to compare it to any previous feeling, and not knowing what to when the pair of brown eyes opened behind those lids.

* * *

_I really hope you're still there. John's worried. I'm not - MM_

This was the point of no return, and she'd already lost it. She had hoped all of her tiny illusions might be shattered. Maybe he'd be deliriously ridiculous, that when he finally gave to leave her, she wouldn't feel at all devastated, but he didn't leave – and he was absolutely beyond a doubt not dreadful.

The idea that he could whatsoever be bad was ridiculous, the man was interested, beyond interested in every curve of her body, whispering into her ear, kissing her neck, as he murmured questions to her, of what she wanted him to do, making her to the point of useless really.

She could barely speak a word in the duration of it, her body only curving towards him, but luckily she had many a turn to drive him to the edge of madness. It was most fun to watch him unravel beneath her touch. Even though he was naked, he didn't seem entirely bare, until she touched him. He'd fallen asleep first, when her fingers were tucked into his hair, straightening out a tendril in her hand, as she smiled at his sleeping calm face.

That was a particular innocent face, the most innocent of any of those he'd made – he was of course covered in bruises, which she'd luckily see disappear off by time. His familiar skin, which she gazed with crimson cheeks, would return once more. Every part of him was particularly interesting, it was a comfort to finally inspect the body she'd been imagining for years, and it was certainly living up to her high expectations. That was saying something. From those darkened curls, to his muscular torso, and the veins prominent in his large spidery hands - every bit of the man was a marvel to be watched.

There was something childish about him, from the moment he had succumbed to telling the truth, or trying to position himself away from it; all was out, for her to see, and it was funny in a way – simultaneously terrifying, since she knew not what the morning held.

Half asleep, with her face into the pillow, she felt a gentle hand caress her lower back, itching its way towards her bottom giving her a playful slap. Molly's eyes widened staring at the naked culprit besides her, "That's not how you greet people good morning," she said mock-affronted lifting her head off the pillow.

"Problem?" he said, his palm on her arse, looking at her questioningly, a smug smile on his lips.

He was very at ease naked - she might never need to get dressed again.

"No," she said with a smile, and he gave her another slap.

She laughed; he grabbed her towards him, taking to kiss her already swollen lips several times, before just staring at her wantonly.

His hand sliding down from under her chin to her hips, before his fingers slipped in effortlessly inside of her.

She gasped at the attention, "Molly, tsk, tsk, I've barely touched you," he reprimanded.

"Shut up," she giggled silencing both their mouths with her lips, while his fingers bent inside of her, but then the unmistakable sound of a door opening was heard.

She blanched pulling back from his lips; he still held her listening quietly to the intruder "Mrs Hudson?" she mouthed.

He shook his head at this, taking to look at his own bedroom door, which was carelessly left open, an easily solved problem, but her clothes were still in the living room scattered in various parts of the flat's floor.

"Sherlock," cried the familiar voice of John, who had obviously returned from Mary's.

Molly gaped, a laugh almost escaping her lips, but she pressed her mouth shut in outright fear of being heard.

Sherlock quirked a brow, untangling himself from her shutting the bedroom door quietly – as if that was enough at the moment, before returning to the bed.

"Ignore him," he said his mouth on her breast.

She pushed him off, "You're not serious," she whispered in return, hoping that he would use the same tone of voice.

He looked at her in surprise, "I'm not?"

"We can't-," she started, when a finger slipped in – a moan escaping her lips, "No – I –  _oh_."

"He'll leave soon enough."

"Sherlock," she just said sternly trying to ignore his administrations.

"Sherlock," continued the voice of John, sounding eerily close.

Sherlock took to roll his eyes clearly disgruntled, slipping on a robe nearby, before demonstratively walking out. Molly pulled up the sheet to her chin, lips pressed together, as she listened intently.

* * *

John had been looking around a bit, sensing that something was  _off_ – there were plates of overturned Chinese food just laying on the carpet, "Sherlock," he repeated irritated as he picked it up, and saw the other plate present, "Shit," he muttered to himself a bit worried, as he bended to prize it up too, trying to scoop up the remains of the food, which clung to the carpet.

It was then bended down amidst the scoop that he saw a pair of lace knickers near the entrance of the kitchen. John gaped, soon catching sight of a dress, and then a bra – all at different spots. He dropped the plates immediately on the floor with a mild disgusted expression.

"John," said the all too cheerful voice of Sherlock who appeared in just a robe. "Good to see you."

John stood up from the floor, taking to opening and shutting his mouth, as he said whispering a bit in his speech, "Are you – did you – no – don't tell me – I'm – really –  _here_?"

Sherlock pursed his mouth, giving soon an blameless expression, as he kicked the knickers by his feet aside – apparently in the hope that he hadn't caught on, "You're a bit too obvious, I'm sorry," said John a bit more loudly laughing over Sherlock's expression.

"I don't know what you're talking about John."

"Really – you don't? – Explain the plates, then," said John crossing his arms giving a brief nod to his friend.

"An experiment," Sherlock replied with ease.

John grimaced, "Yes, well – Molly's dress is here, if she needs it, since I'm sure she does – at some point – I'll pop back to Mary's then, and leave you at it – to it – no – I –  _I'm going_ ," he said heading towards the door, as Sherlock just stood surprised on the spot.

"That's it, then – no questions?"

John's brows rose, "I don't really want to know."

"Oh," said Sherlock seeming a bit displeased.

John chuckled, "Next time – just – hang something on the doorknob – that's what people usually do," he said half-way out.

"You don't," Sherlock remarked.

John just shook his head, before leaving.

She almost laughed at the conversation she'd overheard, with John being baffled, and Sherlock pretending to be guiltless. Not that there was anything to be guilty off, yet she found herself still clinging the sheet to her front, in case John suddenly felt tempted to sprint inside the bedroom, but Sherlock appeared snapping the door shut behind him. He lay down on the bed confidently, still in his robe, slowly tugging the sheet away from her front, his eyes on her body, as he said, "Now, where were we?"

* * *

_Two years later_

Her flat was probably filled with dust, she could only imagine, having been abandoned for so long. This was the longest she'd been away from it, and now she'd decided it was a perfect night to stay at home. Well, she hadn't decided, it was more of a thing she was forcing herself to do, so she could tackle those nights he was away better. She dealt with them badly, tossing and turning in bed, when she'd gotten so used to his warmth encircling her that it was the point of ridiculous.

The state of her cat Toby was good, he wasn't lounging in the flat, of course, that would be ridiculously cruel – he was at Baker Street, having taken residency there, when it was apparent that sending him from friend's to colleagues didn't work. Sherlock brought the cat in the moment she was going to spend the night away from him, because of her feline. The thought didn't make the man very happy, to see the cat come before him, and he wasn't any better by having a guest that clawed all over the place. Yet, Molly knew quite well that Toby's increasing width was not due to his strict diet, but the fact that Sherlock snuck him tuna.

Besides the cat, most of her essentials were in his flat, including some ridiculous dresses that he'd hand-picked when she couldn't make it home to change, before one of their nights out. The fact that he always chose something with a bare back, easily removable, and of a soft fabric – left all of her more sensible clothing at her flat. Not that she would argue against his choices, as they always ended up going nowhere at all (except the bed).

So, when she'd resigned herself to spending a quiet night in her flat, mentally preparing herself for tea and telly – her key didn't work. Molly stared in wonder at the door for a moment, speculating if she was at the right place, and if this indeed was her door, since her familiar doormat was gone. She counted the floors, the doors, and stared at her key – forcing it in, but to no avail – the door wouldn't budge.

She brought up all her keys, staring at them for a moment, knowing fully well it was the right key, before she brought up her mobile phone disgruntled phoning up the landlord.

"Hello – Mr Norton, I can't seem to get into my flat – you haven't changed the locks, have you?"

"This is Miss Hooper, right?" he questioned for a moment.

"Yes," she said slowly, starting to wonder if it was just because it was very late that this was happening. Maybe this wasn't her key at all.

"Well, I must say I'm surprised you're phoning me," he uttered, before giving a little laugh.

Molly blinked several times, "Err – why?"

"You gave up the flat, remember, about a month ago, if I'm not mistaken – you should phone up your new landlord."

Molly gaped, "But – I – I haven't – wait – what? I haven't moved."

"Yes, you have. The papers and everything are already signed for."

"I haven't signed a single paper, Mr Norton."

"Your boyfriend sorted it out, said he'd gotten you to sign, and it was your signature – couldn't be mistaken about it. Every little detail carried out by him."

"What?" she repeated colouring, until she blurted out, "What about my things?"

"Oh, he's gotten them already – spent most of today packing them out. Nice chap, really. It's a pity you're moving, but I can see why."

"I – I – thank you – I've got to go," she said, hands shaking, as she hung up on the man. Molly stared a bit on her phone, trying to reason with herself for a moment. Was this why Sherlock had turned down a cup of coffee with her, then? That was ridiculous. He'd tell her, if he wanted her to move in, but then she recalled their brief conversation some weeks ago.

_Molly lay with her back on the bed. Sherlock was fully clothed, just taking to button up his sleeves, as he eyed her dress on the chair. "You've got a great deal many things, here, Molly," he had said. She had assumed he was worried about the clutter and the cat._

" _Might as well move in I suppose," she had said, before falling fast asleep._

Not that was even remotely a conversation, at all, but apparently it was enough for, "Sherlock," she snapped into the phone.

"Hmm?" he gave to reply, as if she was interrupting him mid-thought.

"Sherlock – where do I live?"

"That's a question I think you'll know the answer to Molly."

"I just spoke with the landlord – you've just moved me in, then?"

"You said it would be easier."

"So-," she started with furrows in her brows.

"I moved you in."

"But – but- I – there are-,"

"All of your things are here. I suggest you unpack, makes it a bit more easier to move about."

"But what about John?"

"He's already moved out."

"Moved out?"

"To Mary's. Keep up Molly. They've been speaking about it for months. Whispering conversations behind my back. John isn't very good at keeping secrets either."

"Yes, well – it doesn't – you could have asked."

"I did – you said yes."

"I was asleep," she said crossly.

"You make your best decisions in bed. Who am I to disagree with you?"

She frowned, a smile threatening to burst forward, but she said rather tersely, "Remind me to punish you later."

"I'll be delighted to," he said, "Now come home, I need a cup of coffee – a case has come up, let's hope it is as good as it appears to be."

Molly rolled her eyes, "I love you too," she said, before hanging up on the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're happy for now. No, this isn't the end of these two. I've been carefully planning another tale with them, there are several hints in the fic over-all. It will be three years later though, and I will try to finish everything, before putting out a single word. Then you'll get frequent updates, instead of these infrequent ones.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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